This Life: A Novel (6 page)

“Everything here is
excellent,” Margot promised him. “And don’t worry. If I can’t afford it, your
boss can.” She winked at Blake and the two laughed like schoolgirls.

“Now, I’ve been doing
some thinking about you being without a publicist,” Margot confided after she
finished off her highball. “You’re getting publicity right now from the Wishman
Spears purchase, even without someone setting up press conferences and such for
you. Just keep that ball rolling, girl. Start a new project that everyone would
be interested in, and reporters will spread the word for you.”

“Interesting idea,”
Blake said, meditating over her Sidecar. “I’ve been planning to get more
involved in charity, even start one of my own. Maybe I should get started on
that.”

“Perfect! And I even
know a celebrity who might agree to be a spokeswoman for your charity.” Margot
leaned in close to Blake, and spoke barely above a whisper. “Thomas and I
vacationed in
Jamaica
for New Year’s, you
know, and guess who else was there then?”

Blake shook her head. “Too
many possibilities, Margot. I have no idea.”

“Lanre, that’s who!”

“I know she was a
shining star of R&B for a couple of years,” Blake said, jabbing her fork
into her salad without truly paying attention to it. “But I haven’t heard
anything about her for quite a while.”

“True, she said she had
creative differences with her record label and ended up breaking her contract
with them. Now she’s got material for a new album and plans to make a comeback.
It seems to me you’d be helping her as much as she’d be helping you. Should
make for a loyal and enthusiastic spokesperson, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.”
Half a
generation has gone by, or at least that’s how it feels. Will anyone in the
younger end of the age range I want to reach even know who Lanre is?

“Well, here, I’ll write
down her phone number for you. Use it or not, as you see fit. But if you want
my advice, I think you should use it.” Margot tore a page off the pad of Post-it
notes she kept in her purse, scribbled a number she looked up in her cell phone’s
contacts list, and handed it to Blake.

Blake looked at it
before sticking it inside her wallet. “What about you, Margot? How are you
keeping yourself entertained these days, whenever Thomas is away on business?”

For the first time
since Blake walked into the Grill Room, Margot didn’t seem to know what to say.
She signaled their waiter to come to their table, and ordered another highball.
“Every day is different,” she said at last.

She said it to her
highball, not to Blake.

#

March 19

New York
,
New York

Though Blake hated
waiting while attention to her Wishman Spears purchase faded, Lanre wasn’t
available for a
New
York
meeting until two-and-a-half weeks after Blake’s lunch with Margot. She put the
intervening time to use as best she could, interviewing contractors for her
Wishman renovation plans and consulting with attorneys who specialized in
forming and administering charitable organizations. Finally the day came when
Lanre was in the city to spend a few days in a recording studio and perform at
two local clubs.

Lanre suggested that
she and Blake talk over brunch the morning after her arrival in
New York
. She requested they
meet at Madiba, a
Brooklyn
restaurant specializing
in South African cuisine. Blake and Suki, with whom Antonio had traded shifts
so that he could see a dentist, were waiting outside the restaurant when the
doors opened at
eleven
o’clock
.

At half past, when
Lanre still hadn’t shown up, Blake tried to call her but only reached
voicemail.
I get the feeling this isn’t going to work out.
With a
strained smile, Blake said to Suki, “As long as we’re here, we may as well eat.”

“I’ve never tried South
African food before. Got any idea what’s good, Boss?”

“Your guess is as good
as mine.” Blake studied the menu, and was trying to decide between a safe lamb
curry or an adventurous boerewors roll when at last a stern-faced, middle-aged
brown-skinned woman marched up to Blake’s table, with Lanre slouching behind
her.

“Blake Bertrand?”
demanded the older woman, oblivious to Suki’s appraising stare.

“I am,” Blake agreed,
looking past the woman at Lanre. The singer appeared to be in the throes of a
wicked hangover.

“Let’s get down to
business, then.” The woman impatiently waved Lanre into a chair, and plunked
her own ample hiney onto another. “How much are you offering to pay my daughter
to hype this charity of yours?”

“I haven’t decided on a
specific amount yet.” Again Blake gazed at Lanre, bewildered by the younger
woman’s total silence.
I’ve had some hangovers in my time, but I could still
speak if I needed to. What’s up with this girl?

“Well, that’s something
we’ve got to know up front. My daughter is going to be extremely busy in the
next few months, working her way back to the top of the R&B charts. Her
time is valuable, and any time spent away from advancing her music career must
be well compensated. Isn’t that right, Lan?”

The older woman looked
at the younger, who apparently found the tabletop fascinating. “Uh,” Lanre said
after a moment. An achingly long second later, she added, “huh.”

“Please excuse me for a
few minutes,” Blake said, keeping her voice quiet as a courtesy to the
afflicted singer. “I really need to visit the bathroom.”

“Where my boss goes, I
follow,” Suki informed the two, and accompanied Blake to the ladies’ room.

Blake retrieved her
wallet from her purse and found the business card on which the old fellow from
the
Miami-to-NY
flight had written the
name of his own publicist. She keyed the number into her BlackBerry, listened
as the other end rang twice, and breathed a sigh of relief when a silky woman’s
voice answered, “Vickie Sharp PR, this is Vickie speaking.”

“A client of yours gave
you a glowing recommendation, and I need a good publicist as soon as possible,”
Blake answered. “I’m Blake Bertrand. Please tell me we can meet sometime in the
next few days!”

Chapter Five

March 20

New York
,
New York

When Blake emerged from
a morning spent consulting with attorney Susan Golden about zoning restrictions
on the Wishman Spears building that she’d need amended before proceeding with
her plans, she powered on her BlackBerry and immediately regretted it. An email
from Charles was waiting for her. Its subject line: Haiti.>

“Damn it all.” She
opened the message, took a deep breath, and let the bad news sink in.

rival bought up the Dessalines, and has outbid you for two other properties you
wanted. Amounts exceed maximums you’re willing to pay.>

“That doesn’t make
sense.” Blake frowned at her BlackBerry, as if the device were to blame for the
disappointing news.

“What doesn’t make
sense?” Antonio stood between Blake and the curb, watching for the taxi the law
firm had called for them.

“I’ve been trying to
buy three properties in Little Haiti. They have low market values, but based on
their locations and history and other factors I could use them to remake the
neighborhood as one of the most desirable places to live and work in the
United States
. I’ve been dreaming
about it for years, almost as long as I dreamed of renovating the Wishman
Spears. Up here,” Blake tapped her forehead, “I’ve got plans for the whole
neighborhood for the next ten years, but I need those three properties. Some
idiot bidding anonymously is offering so much for them that they couldn’t
possibly break even for at least five years.”

“Can you afford to wait
longer than five years to break even?”

“Of course. I can
outbid my rival for all three and still not pay more than two million dollars
total. That’s only a drop in my bucket.” Blake shook her head. “I won’t do it,
though, because that drop may make the difference in affording another deal I
want to do later. It makes no sense to overpay by more than a certain margin,
even if you can afford it. You just limit your future opportunities if you do
that.”

Antonio nodded as the
taxi stopped at the law firm’s driveway. He opened the door for Blake, waited
for her to scoot over to the far seat, and folded his large frame by her side
in the backseat. “More sabotage is what it sounds like to me,” he said as the
taxi merged with traffic.

Blake considered that
through a few blocks of travel. “This does sound like something Lang would do.
He has little business savvy, but a lot of mean spirit.”

“So what are you going
to do about it?”

“Let him have Little
Haiti. I hate it, but I can’t ruin myself financially just because my ex wants
to play competitive games.” She opened a new message to Charles and typed:

Haiti
. Quietly look for
bargains in other parts of
Miami
that need new life.>

When they were back in
Blake’s penthouse apartment, she went into her bedroom and shut and locked the
door. After putting some Duke Ellington on the turntable, she tapped “3” on her
BlackBerry’s speed-dial.

“Johnny Capps
Surveillance,” a man’s voice answered.

“Hi, Johnny, Blake
here.” She plunked herself down on a corner of her bed.

“Well, hi, Blake!
Listen, I don’t have anything new to report about your boy, but I could snap
some more pictures.”

Her fingers tightened
on the BlackBerry for a moment, the face of “her boy” springing unbidden to
mind and paining her heart. “I’d love that, but I’m actually calling you about
something else.”

“Oh yeah? What can I do
for you?”

“I’m going to email you
addresses of three
Miami
properties I just tried to buy, but an anonymous bidder kept
raising their price until I had to give up. I want to know who the anonymous
bidder was.”

“Lang, probably.”

“That’s what I think
too, but I want to know for sure.” Blake stood and moved back to the turntable,
looking out the huge window.

“I’ll get right on it.
Talk to you soon.” Johnny clicked the call off.

She couldn’t help
herself. Blake pulled the Raven Glory album out of the rack and stood for a
while studying every detail of her father’s long, slim face.

Then she shook the
vinyl record out of its cover and, with it, several photographs. Each showed a
boy whose features resembled Blake’s father.

And Blake’s mother.

And Blake herself.

#

It was almost
lunchtime, and Blake couldn’t stop thinking about her lost hopes for Little
Haiti. She wanted to think about something else, something still in her power
to have a positive influence on. Wanting and doing were two different things,
however.

Damn you, Lang. You
know how to push my buttons even from hundreds of miles away, don’t you?

Suki wandered into the
living room, perspiring from her all-morning jujitsu practice and still in
martial arts uniform. “Hi, Boss. After I shower I think I’m going to run out
and get some lunch. I’m thinking—”

The sudden silence got
Blake’s attention as the words hadn’t. “Hi, Suki. Sorry, I was thinking.”

“I could see that.
Matter of fact, you looked like you were thinking of breaking someone’s bones.”

Blake grimaced. “He’d
deserve it, but I don’t have it in me to do that.”

“Oh. Him.” Suki swiped
one loose sleeve over her forehead to mop up some of the dampness. “Listen, Boss,
do you ever go to the gym?”

“Yeah. I mean, I did
until my mom’s accident. Since then…”

“…you’re afraid of
running into Lang,” Suki finished, after Blake stopped in mid- sentence.

“Am I that obvious?”

Suki regarded Blake
without expression or sound, until Blake squirmed under her bodyguard’s gaze. “This
isn’t the first time any of us have protected a battered woman,” Suki said at
last. “And we all three agree you’ve got a hell of a lot more in you than you
realize.”

With what she knew must
be a weak smile, Blake murmured, “Thanks.”

“Time to start
realizing it, though. Get changed into workout clothes, Boss. We’ll grab a
light lunch, and then we’re going to whichever gym is your favorite. I’m going
to teach you some basic self-defense moves.” Suki strode into the bathroom
adjoining her bedroom, and seconds later Blake heard the shower.

Suited up in a
body-skimming Armani jumpsuit that made Suki arch an eyebrow, Blake and her
deadliest bodyguard directed their taxi to take them to a corner café for soup
and salad to go. From there they cruised over to the Reebok Sports Club.

Together they went
through an hour’s worth of warm-up and fitness training. Then Suki led Blake
into the boxing studio, and they climbed into an available ring.

For two hours Suki
taught Blake two blocks, a kick, and two punches that she said were the most
useful moves in combat jujitsu. Over and over Suki commanded Blake to practice
each maneuver, and gradually Suki refined Blake’s posture and delivery. Blake
noticed a crowd gathering to observe, but Suki kept her too busy to fret about
how she must look to the bystanders.

“Exam time,” Suki said,
just when Blake felt so exhausted she didn’t think she could lift either hand
above her waist again and her legs felt too wobbly to hold her up much longer.

“Please tell me that’s
a joke,” Blake groaned.

“I teach self-defense
to women and girls, part-time. One woman who’d been taking my classes for only
three weeks was attacked just outside her home,” Suki told Blake, folding her
arms across her chest and leveling a stern stare at her boss. “She and her
attacker traded blows before he finally gave up and ran away. He was a
determined motherfucker. What I’m teaching you can save your life from
determined motherfuckers. So use it!”

With that Suki lashed
out a punch aimed for Blake’s throat. Blake had no time to think, no time to
fear. Her left hand swept up in the first block Suki had taught her. A yelp escaped
her lips as the bodyguard’s fist smacked into her wrist—if she’d done it
correctly the blow would have impacted the side of her hand.

“Sorry,” Blake gasped.

“Why? You stopped me
from smashing your windpipe. Again!” Suki struck out at Blake’s abdomen, and
Blake’s right hand flipped the bodyguard’s forearm aside and opened her up for
the kick Blake had learned. Suki blocked it, of course, but she grinned and
exclaimed, “Perfect!”

A round of applause
went up from their audience. Blake felt heat rush into her cheeks. For a minute
she’d forgotten people were watching them.

“Okay, we’ll stop now,”
Suki said. “I’ll call a taxi. But I want you to practice those moves for half
an hour tonight. Tomorrow we’re going to practice them some more, and I’m going
to teach you a couple of new tricks.”

Blake, bent over with
hands braced on knees, muttered, “Fuck me…”

“Don’t mind if I do.” A
man’s voice, somehow familiar.

She found the strength
to turn around. At one corner of the boxing ring stood a fine-looking specimen,
watching her with bright teeth showing in a broad smile and mocha skin still
glowing from recent exertion. Blake remembered meeting him at the pre-opening
party a week before her divorce was finalized. What she didn’t remember was his
name.

“Um, hi.”

“You forgot my name?”
He clasped at his heart, eyes going wide in theatrical injury. “Oh, woman, you
may as well kill me where I stand. It couldn’t hurt worse than this.”

Blake laughed, even as
she glanced at Suki, who was just ending her call for a taxi. “How about you
just remind me, and then I can let you live?”

“I suppose that will
do. Brett Skeet. You don’t shake hands, but do you high-five when you’ve put on
a kick-ass show?” He lifted a hand, ready if she was willing.

“I hope a smile is good
enough?” She smiled hugely at Brett. Suki moved to Blake’s side and glanced
from her boss to the gentleman she didn’t know, then back again. The bodyguard
took one step back to have them both in view and within reach, but said nothing
and stood blank-faced.

“Listen, if you want to
wait until you’re back in
Miami
I’ll understand. But if you’d be willing to do that lunch
and shoptalk while we’re both in
New York
, name a time and place and it’s on me.”

Blake studied his fine
face for a moment, then blurted, “How about dinner tonight?”

“If
I’d known you had that much energy left, we’d still be practicing,” intoned
Suki.