Power & Beauty (8 page)

“How old were you when you started Wasserman Records?”

“A little older than you, Power. Eighteen, maybe nineteen.”

“Where’d you get the money?”

“I found partners. Enemies of Bender. Men he had been cheating.”

“And they trusted someone so young?”

“I knew how to sell. I knew how to put on a suit and make a nice presentation. I was sincere. I told my investors I’d be working for them and my motivation was to double their money in a year. I accomplished that. I accomplished it by trusting the black man. A black man went to the clubs and told me which singers were the best. That’s something I could never do for myself. Another black man wrote songs for these artists. And a very talented black man ran the recording studio. They were all well paid. To this day they will swear by me. They own their own homes. They have pension plans. They take their grandchildren on the Disney cruises. They go first-class.”

“And the nightclubs came after the record company?”

“The nightclubs I wasn’t all that personally involved in. They were investments. Good investments. You’re too young to remember the disco era, but discos made money. Johnnie Meadows came out of disco. He sang in one of my discos. Then he had all those hits on my label. Big moneymaker. But he could never leave the broads alone. Broads were his downfall. That’s why his goddamn wife was so angry—may she rot in jail.”

“And rap and hip-hop—how did all that start?” I asked.

“Wasserman Records was not a good name for the new music. It was Judy who told me to call it Complex Music. She said the kids would relate. They did. It was the son of my studio engineer Aaron Kendle—Aaron Jr.—who was our first rapper. Little Aaron they called him. I didn’t know what the fuck he was rapping about, but who cares when you get sales like Little Aaron got? Little Aaron also found the ChiBoyz. They had a run of hits when boy bands were big. Soon Little Aaron stopped rapping and became a full-time talent scout and producer. He discovered Hancock, the kid who named himself after this building, and last year he discovered Candy Girl. Candy Girl is the hottest thing going. I introduced you to Candy Girl, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“She’s a clever girl.”

“Very.”

“Sensational show-business talent.”

“She’s selling out the big arenas,” I said.

“Next year the ballparks. I’m booking her into Yankee Stadium.”

“Wow.”

“Some guy is writing a book about her. Imagine writing a biography of a girl who’s barely twenty-one. I don’t want him writing it, though.”

“How come?”

“Because Candy Girl is all about the mystery behind the crazy image. I don’t want her unwrapped. The more mystery, the bigger the sales.”

“Isn’t she just a white girl from the burbs?”

“A fuckin’ clever white girl who’s got more ambition than Napoleon. That’s why I love her. Before Judy went to Betty Ford, I was gonna have Judy work with her. But Judy was in no shape to work with anyone. Now when I mention it to Judy, Judy calls her a cheap whore. I think Judy’s jealous of her. Have you seen Judy recently?”

“We ate at Le Beef.”

“Why the hell did she pick that restaurant?”

“She wants you to buy it for her so she can run it.”

“My crazy goddamn daughter. It wasn’t enough to have a crazy wife. But to have a daughter who got all her mother’s craziness—it’s too much. I’m not doing it. I’m drawing the line.”

“She thinks—”

“I know what she thinks. She thinks it’s because of me that her meathead boyfriend got killed.”

Irv stopped talking. I waited for him to deny it. Until now, I was pretty sure, given what I had seen at the gym, that one of those shady steroid cats had murdered Dwayne. Now I wasn’t so sure. At the same time, I wasn’t about to ask. The silence hung over us. Irv took several sighs before he started talking again.

“Look, Power, your uncle—or whatever he is to you—sent you here to learn. You’ve been a good kid. I like you. You been good to me and you been good to my daughter. You listen and you know when to shut up. So I’m going to tell you everything I know. It ain’t that much. It couldn’t fill a book. It couldn’t even fill a chapter in a book. Here’s what it comes down to: They say family comes first, but family fucks you. I was a mistake to my family. My father didn’t want me, and I knew that every day of my life. My father fucked me up. Then, careful as I was before marrying, my wife fucked me up. Now you see my daughter is fucking me up. Families are supposed to be for comfort, but families are horror shows. Don’t marry, Power. Don’t ever get married. Don’t get involved with family. You stay clear of family and your mind stays clear. You need a clear mind if you’re going into Slim’s business. Slim has stores and car washes and other thriving businesses. Slim is local. I met Slim when I needed an Atlanta connection for some of my thriving businesses. Slim helped me, so I’m helping him by helping you. I’m telling you to stay local. I’m in Chicago, I’m in Cleveland, I’m in Detroit. With this hip-hop business, I’m all over the map. It’s too much. I have too many people I have to trust. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Stay local and keep it simple.”

“You put it beautifully. Local can be lucrative. Local can be more lucrative than national because national can drain you. I worry all the time because I got so much shit to worry about. Especially my daughter. I’ve tried to make her happy. You’ve seen that. No father has tried harder. But if you ask me, Power, how to get ahead in this business, I’m telling you find one, maybe two people you can trust and stop there. If you need more than two, your business is too big. Right now my business is too big. And what do I got to show for it? Fancy houses, fancy office, fancy car. But a crazy ex-wife and a crazy daughter. And aggravation.”

I wanted to say something to make Irv feel better, but I didn’t know what to say. The man always talked about aggravation. There was no talking him out of it. And I knew what he meant about his business. I saw all the different operations that spread in different directions. He had let me sit in on certain meetings where he faced the guys who ran his nightclubs, his management firm, his hip-hop label, and his booking agency. He kept me out of meetings where he talked about his “other” operations. I never asked him what they were.

I saw how Irv questioned all his lieutenants closely. I saw how he wrestled with the business of trust. He didn’t want to trust anyone, but he had no choice. Take the hip-hop label. He told me that he didn’t really trust the label president, a man he had personally hired, so he put in another guy under the president. The second guy was there as Irv’s watchdog, but after a couple of weeks, Irv began having doubts about the watchdog. What if the watchdog had been bought off by the president? What if the two of them were devising schemes to skim off the top? Of course John Mackey was there to oversee everything. Irv trusted John Mackey with his life. Mackey’s loyalty couldn’t be questioned. After all, Irv had made Mackey a millionaire many times over. When it came to numbers, Irv said that Mackey was a genius. Mackey was ten steps ahead of everyone.

But even Mackey made mistakes. Irv told me about how it was him, not Mackey, who figured out how their outside public relations firm had been billing them at twice their normal rates. Mackey didn’t know anything about public relations, but Irv did. Irv realized his profile in that city had to be positive—and that would take work. But he also knew that was no reason for a PR firm to jack up their rates. He found this out by comparing bills with his friend Cooper Newberry, president of Great Lakes Bank. Newberry, who had once been indicted by the Feds, used the same PR firm. When the charges didn’t stick, Newberry needed help to restore his image. “I wouldn’t give two shits about image,” Irv told me, “if a bad image didn’t hurt business.”

During these different business meetings with his underbosses, Irv didn’t talk much. He listened closely. He kept a yellow pad on his desk and took notes with a fancy Montblanc fountain pen. The notes were mainly questions. When the underboss was done reporting, the questions came quickly.

“How did you get that figure?”

“How does this year’s gross compare to last year’s?”

“Why did you raise that rate?”

“Why did you lower that one?”

“What are the projected earnings?”

“What are the projected losses?”

“Where’s the fuckin’ backup data?”

“Why don’t you know how the competition’s numbers stack up against us?”

I watched as the men sitting across from Irv’s desk squirmed. The cross-examination was rough, and if the answers didn’t come in a timely fashion, or if the answers didn’t come at all, that underboss would be replaced within a few days. The revolving door never stopped revolving.

Spring

I
t was April of the following year when I thought I saw Beauty walking into an upscale mall on Michigan Avenue. She was walking through a revolving door. I was a half block away, and as soon as I saw her, I started to sprint. Even before I saw her, the day felt good. Winter was turning to spring and the sun was finally out in force. I was full of energy. As the weather got warmer, Irv got crazier—and so did Judy. But the more they talked about their problems and the louder they became, the more I learned to tune them out. Or at least separate myself from the drama.

In mid-March, for example, when Judy’s uncle Marsh was run over by a speeding pickup truck as he was walking across Rush Street, his restaurant business went into disarray and, at a rock-bottom price, Irv was able to buy the Le Beef location that Judy wanted. The driver and the pickup truck that killed her uncle were never found. Irv gave Le Beef to Judy but only on the condition that she enroll in a management school at a business college in downtown Chicago. She agreed. She hated the school and called it a waste of time until she a met a teacher, a California surfer-type guy in his thirties, and coaxed him into bed.

Meanwhile, during meetings with his underbosses Irv seemed on edge. He was more suspicious than usual. Once or twice, he lost his temper when the answers to his questions didn’t come quickly enough. Irv had always told me how important it was to contain your temper. A couple of times he called me at night just to retell all the stories about his mother, father, and former wife that he had told me before. When he took me to opening day at Wrigley Field, he hardly watched the game. That was unusual because Irv loved his Cubbies. He spent the whole time on his cell phone talking to John Mackey. When the food didn’t arrive at his private box behind home plate, he started yelling. I started wondering what was happening. I also wondered if at some point Irv would turn on me. After all, I didn’t do much real work. I sat in the office with Mackey and got a pretty good idea of how the operation worked but had no real duties. “That’s how it should be,” Irv said. “Your job is watch and learn. Not do.”

There was change in the air, and I couldn’t tell which way the wind was blowing. Then, out of nowhere, I spotted Beauty. At least I thought it was her. When I saw her walk into the big store on Michigan Avenue, I felt my heart hammering. I’d dreamed of her just the night before. In the dream she was looking for me on some lonely beach. Well, here in real life she had found me. I ran into the mall and by the time I went through the revolving door, she was out of sight. The mall was crawling with people. There was a giant atrium and four floors of stores and restaurants. I looked in every direction but she wasn’t there. I started on the ground floor and raced in and out of every dress shop and shoe salon in sight. Then I went to the next level. I looked in the jewelry stores, the stationery stores, everywhere. I ran through Macy’s like a track star, and when I had covered the entire department store, I retraced my steps and started all over again. She had to be there. I had to find her. She was looking for me just like she had been looking for me in last night’s dream.

After a while, I knew I had to pace myself or I’d use up all my energy. I stopped running and started walking. But I was looking just as hard. From behind, every tall, dark-haired, fashionably dressed female was Beauty. When I caught up and saw her face, though, my heart sank. The disappointment only made me more determined. I stalked the mall like a madman. Finally, after two hours, I had to admit defeat. I had to tell myself that maybe it wasn’t Beauty after all. In chasing after her, I’d convinced myself that she was in Chicago because she knew I was there. She was looking for me. But that was more like one of my dreams than real life. I had to call Wanda for a reality check.

“Wanda,” I said on the phone, “am I dreaming or did I see Beauty here in Chicago walking through a mall today? Is she in Chicago?”

“Honey,” said Wanda, “that child is living her own life. I have no idea where she is and where she isn’t. How’s Hair Is Where It’s At? They making money?”

“All reports are good.”

“And when you coming home, Power? Slim’s missing you like crazy.”

“Oh, come on . . .”

“For real.”

“Your friend Anita Ward must say something to you about Beauty,” I said.

“She says she’s doing just fine. She’s in school.”

“Which school? What’s it called?”

“I got no details, baby. I got nothing for you but love, Power. You’re one story, and Beauty’s another. I wouldn’t wait for her to come back.”

“Come back where? To Atlanta? To Chicago?”

“I don’t know if she’s in Chicago, sugar. I told you that.”

“But I saw her, Wanda. I saw the girl with my own eyes.”

“How’s the white girl with the cute figure? Judy—isn’t that her name? She was a doll, and, from what I saw, she had her eye on you.”

“She’s crazy.”

“What woman isn’t? But at least this one is crazy rich.”

“If Beauty calls looking for me, please give her this number.”

“Of course, baby.”

Just before my nineteenth birthday in August, I was worried enough about Irv to call Slim.

“He’s forgetting stuff,” I told Slim. “Yesterday he forgot my name.”

“Old age does that to motherfuckers,” said Slim. “I can see my own memory starting to slip.”

“I’m used to him telling me the same stories three or four times, but now he’s telling those stories four times in the same hour. I think it’s time to get out of here. I think he’s losing it.”

“I’ll call him. If you can’t be useful to him anymore, you right. Time to get out of Dodge.”

Next day Slim called back.

“Irv says he needs you more than ever,” said Slim.

“Needs me for what?” I asked.

“You comfort him. Irv’s a nigga lover and you his nigga.”

“There’s not much for me to do.”

“Whatever it is, do it. If he needs you to hold his dick when he takes a piss, you hold it. I owe him. He’ll let you know when he doesn’t need you anymore.”

I usually got to the office of Wasserman Enterprises at around nine. Irv normally showed up at ten. But on the first Monday of October, it was eleven
A.M
. and the boss wasn’t there. John Mackey and I were sitting in Mackey’s little office. I was reading about the World Series on my MacBook Pro. Mackey was looking over spreadsheets on his desktop Dell.

“You hear from Irv?” I asked.

“He’s not feeling well,” said Mackey, staying focused on the numbers dancing across his computer screen.

“Anything serious?”

“With Irv everything is serious.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant. But because John Mackey was not a man who invited conversation—or even a single simple question—it didn’t feel right to ask him anything else. So I went back to reading about baseball. Once in a while I’d look up and sneak a peek at Mackey. I didn’t know anything about him except that Irv said he was a genius. I didn’t know if he was Jewish or Irish. He had an Irish name but a Jewish nose. His nose was too wide for his thin face. He wore a coat and tie every day. I saw that he picked out his outfits carefully. If he wore a brown sports coat and slacks, he’d have on brown shoes. His ties always contrasted nicely with his shirts. His clothes weren’t cheap. Because of his slight frame, his clothes looked too big on him, but they had a nice drape. He picked out expensive fabrics. His only piece of jewelry was a thin Cartier watch from back in the day. It had to be an antique and was probably worth a fortune. His rimless eyeglass frames were slightly tinted so I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes. After a half hour or so he said to me, “It’s getting on noon. I better call him again.”

He picked up his phone, dialed, and waited a long while.

“He’s not picking up,” he said. “That’s not good.”

“Have you noticed how he’s repeating things?” I asked.

“He’s been doing that for some time,” he said.

“But lately it’s gotten worse.”

“I’ve noticed,” Mackey agreed. “He’s under a lot of pressure. This business with Le Beef and his daughter is madness.”

“But isn’t there always pressure?” I asked.

“There’s pressure and there’s
pressure
,” said Mackey. “At his age the pressure is harder to take.”

“Do you think he has some disease?”

“What kind of disease?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

“My older brother has Alzheimer’s.”

“Is he acting like Irv?” I asked.

“You have to understand, no one acts like Irv. Irv is not your normal man and he does not have normal sicknesses. Sometimes he acts sick to put you off guard. While you think he’s not looking, he’s looking closer than ever. Don’t take anything for granted with Irv. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you know him.”

For the all the time I had been coming to the office, this was the most serious thing that Mackey had ever said to me. I wasn’t sure why he had started talking this way. Maybe he was really worried about his boss and the worry got him to jabbering.

“Do you know how I met Irv?” he asked.

“No.”

“I went to law school. You knew I was a lawyer, didn’t you?”

“I guessed you were.”

“You guessed right. I was editor of the law review at Yale. After graduation, I was recruited by the most prestigious firm in Chicago. My father was also a lawyer but unsuccessful. He was a brilliant man who died a pauper.”

“How did that happen?”

“Gambling. My father was a degenerate gambler. He couldn’t leave the casino until he was completely wiped out. He brought shame to our family. When he was forty, he shot himself. My mother raised five sons alone.”

I didn’t say anything. I just waited for Mackey to continue. I could see he was just getting warmed up.

“My dad wanted me to take it further than he had—but I set my sights even higher. I was going to be a lawyer’s lawyer. I saw myself on the Supreme Court. Corporate law was merely the jumping-off point. From there I’d win a political appointment, I’d advance my way through the system, I’d become a judge, I’d climb to the top of Mount Everest. But early on I ran into some problems at the firm. One of the partners disliked me. To this day I don’t know why. I suspect he was a closeted homosexual who desired me, but I can’t say that for sure.”

I couldn’t see John Mackey being the object of anyone’s desire. But naturally I didn’t say a word.

“In any event, the man had it out for me. He resented my intelligence and conspired to make me look bad. This went on for years. I pleaded my case with the other partners, but they were loyal to my nemesis, who was also the controlling partner. There was little I could do. Wasserman Enterprises happened to be one of our clients and, in a junior capacity, I was asked to do some work for Irv. At a time in my professional life when I was being maligned, Irv saw my potential. He kept saying, ‘Mackey, you’re the smartest fuckin’ lawyer over there. You should be running that place.’ After a year of watching me, he proposed that I leave the firm and work for him. Wasserman Enterprises was growing by leaps and bounds. He needed an in-house lawyer. I became that lawyer. And given his spreading operation, I soon became much more. I worked fourteen, sixteen hours a day. There was nothing I would not do for this man whose business savvy was exceeded only by his generosity.”

“When did you go to work for him?”

“Twenty-five years ago.”

“That’s a long time.”

“A very long time.”

“And you know him better than anyone in the world.”

“I know him very well indeed.”

“So do you think he’s really sick or what?” I asked.

“I’m worried. He’s missing appointments. He’s making careless mistakes with associates. He’s telling me to write checks to people who shouldn’t be getting checks.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“What can I do? I’ll do all I can to protect him. I owe the man my professional life. I owe him everything.”

“Do you think he knows that he isn’t right?”

“Irv never discusses his health. At least he never has. He keeps his personal life personal. He doesn’t even talk about his daughter with me the way he does with you.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

“His daughter is poison,” said Mackey. “She’s the reason he’s struggling right now. She has him tied around her little finger. I suspect you’ve seen that for yourself.”

I still kept quiet.

Mackey went on. “He needs to be rid of her. He needs to give her one last big check and tell her to get lost.”

“Do you have kids of your own?” I asked.

“No wife, no kids. When I started working here the first advice Irv gave me was not to have a family. He said that a family would be the bane of my existence. He said this even before he got married, before Judy was born. Then he met that woman and he went against his own wisdom. He has obviously paid a terrible price.”

Mackey’s face turned slightly red. He had really worked himself up into a state.

“I’m going over to his place,” he said. “You may want to come with me.”

The black woman who worked for Irv was named Dottie. She had been there for years and liked to boss him around. He didn’t mind. She was a big lady who didn’t take shit from anyone. She scolded him when he was late for dinner and when he didn’t eat his vegetables. She cooked his meals, laundered his clothes, and cleaned his house. She was older than him but had the energy of someone twenty years younger. Dottie was a tornado.

When we got to Irv’s Lake Shore Drive apartment, Dottie was crying. Her chubby cheeks were wet with tears.

“Something’s wrong, Mr. Mackey, something’s real wrong. When I went in this morning to wake him up, he didn’t know who I was.”

“Dear God,” said Mackey.

“Then he asked when his mother was coming from the cemetery. How was I supposed to answer that, Mr. Mackey? What was I supposed to say?”

“There’s nothing to say, Dottie. You’re doing the best you can.”

“You two go on in there,” she said. “I pray he snaps out of it. I pray that Mr. Wasserman knows who you are.”