Disclaimers: See Chapter 1. Any other comments can be sent to me at bironel@gmail.com
Synopsis: A novella about the an insanely wealthy white woman's search for her soul mate and the debt ridden black woman writer, with a vivid imagination, who tries to keep out of her way.
Amanda's Narrative: Damage Control
Ahhh. I can feel the sun pecking in at me through the blinds. I open one eye planning my revenge. An eclipse perhaps? I groan as I turn on my back and stretch. I smack my cracked dried lips and wipe the sleep dust from my eyes. Ah morning.
My sock covered feet slide across my wonderfully smooth and shiny parquet wood floors. I glide to my bathroom. Today I'll have a long, hot bath instead of my daily shower; and oatmeal with dried cherries instead of a hard boiled egg and toasted bagel with cream cheese.
Today Raoul will be working my ass off at the gym so I must indulge in the pleasure before the pain. I empty the contents of my Ginger Souffle Bubble bath into the piping hot stream of water collecting in my sunken tub for two.
For two. It's so depressing how long it has been since another person has shared this tub with me. I look around my spacious bathroom and realize here hasn't been anyone promising lately to invite back here for months.
There was someone, hmmm... yes that strange writer at the community college but she never sent the manuscript. She probably never wrote anything and lied about it. This was very annoying. Aren't there any originally creative women in this damn city? Where are the tortured artists??? Five failures in a row! I'm libel to get a complex over this. I'll quit for now until something interesting breaks through.
I sink into the dense foam of ginger scented bubbles as my pasty white ass hits the sinfully hot water below. Better than a cup of coffee. I soak until the water cools to warm and the bubbles no longer cooperate in giving my strategic areas cover. I rub the loofah over my breasts and down my back. My day begins!
-----
The last spoonful of oatmeal and dried cherries with a dab of cinnamon sends me into a orgasm of oral delights. It's no wonder I've gain all this weight with the lack of regular sex and the abundance of yummy treats like this. I shamelessly finger lick the bowl clean as I scan the headlines of the Daily Tribune.
Death.
Murder.
Mayhem.
He stole this.
She killed.
They lied.
They died.
Same crap as yesterday.
I really need to cancel my subscription to this rag if nothing new and interesting happens. Ennui, thy name is Amanda De Klerk-Zwart, heiress to the De Klerk-Zwart Publishing, a world leading publisher of information and solutions for professional users operating in four core markets: Business, Legal, Education, Science / Medical / Technical. De Klerk-Zwart Publishing provides high value and flexible information solutions to professional end users.
Sounds like babble to me. But it keeps my net worth in the billions so I won't quibble about it.
-----
The foundations of De Klerk-Zwart Publishing were laid in 1956 when Albert De Klerk, a third generation Dutch American established his newsprint manufacturing plant in Fort Lee, New Jersey, it became a public company in 1958. The name of the parent company was changed to De Klerk Publishing Limited in 1960, when his plant handled all the newsprint publishing business on both sides of the Hudson river .
De Klerk-Zwart Publishing came into being in 1967 when Jacob George De Klerk the nephew of Albert De Klerk married Joanne Zwart the only daughter of the Zwart Print Publishing Dynasty of the Netherlands . They had one daughter, a year after their wedding and named her Amanda.
De Klerk-Zwart Publishing, headquartered in New York , has worldwide offices in Amsterdam , London , Madrid , Morocco , Sao Paulo and Singapore . In 1991, Amanda was successful in negotiating the newest office openings in both Morocco and Sao Paulo after a failed attempt to ouster her at the request of her, estranged mother, Joanne.
-----
Clad in a large thirsty white terry cloth robe and matching slippers, I walk back into the bedroom to get ready to go to the gym. I'll have Raoul work with me on my abs today.
I lace up my black Puma™ cross trainers. I stand up and scan my exercise outfit: black yoga pants with matching top and black hair scrunge to pull my shoulder length golden locks off my neck. I strike a pose. Damn I have to lose like twenty pounds of thunder thighs and tubby tummy.
I snatch up my keys to the loft, my gray hat, scarf, mittens and my gray pea coat. Lastly, I sling my black North Face gym duffel bag onto my shoulder and head out to the gym.
-----
When I reach the gym it is nearly empty. I pick a locker, discard my burdens and search out for Raoul. I find my fitness Nazi working on his own physique doing ab crunches on a Nautilus machine. He eyes me and stops.
Amanda: Raoul.
I look at the one hundred and twenty pounds he was crunching with abs alone. Damn!
Raoul: I'm thinking you ready for dis. We start low.
I involuntarily raise an eyebrow of disbelief. He replaces the weight pin so I'll only be ab crunching twenty pounds.
Amanda: We're on the same page. I'm your clay Raoul.
-----
I snatch a towel up from the bin and march off to the locker room. My abs are cramping with each step I take! Raoul is a god damn sadist! I grab my bottle of water and suck it dry after popping a couple of Advil. I'm not training for the fucking Olympics here! I just want to lose a few pounds here and there. I need a new trainer with a more amiable workout session.
I'll reschedule my sessions with someone new after a lengthy shower. Perhaps Theresa. It's a shame she is so unattractive.
After my workout, I stop downtown to check out some of the new spring lines in a few boutiques. Some of the pants sets were promising. It was depressing that the one dress I liked didn't fit. Maybe I should keep Raoul.
Various shop girls flirted shameless with me hoping to get a huge sale from me and of course, some other more mutually pleasurable benefits. In the past, I may have taken one or two of them up on a little romp in the back stock rooms. Now I've grown tired of that anonymous sex scene. I needed something more. Lately, the universe isn't cooperating with my needs.
-----
I hail a cab to carry me and my packages back downtown to my loft. I have a few errands to run before I call up Gerald. I watch the city flow in a stream of life while I float midtown in a yellow blur as seen reflected in the shiny mirrors of the various buildings we fly pass.
Gerald has become annoying contrite lately in his e-mails for some unknown transgression and I've been putting off my biweekly call to him because I‘ve been too distracted this past month to deal with legal issues.
I've known Gerald since I was a child. He was my father's friend and after many years of his absence Gerald was retained as my Father's private lawyer from the firm where all family business was conducted when Mother left to play in Morocco with twin brothers, rich Saudi exiles.
This was the origin of Father's infamous anti-Muslim /death-to-Islam tirades. He failed to acknowledge to himself that Mother went willingly. Nor did he understand that the Saudi twins were in exile because they lived secular lives.
I never understood Mother's fascination with North Africa , having played there myself in my late twenties. Yes the girls and boys are beauties but beyond that there was nothing but the depressing poverty and corruption which fueled it. I ran back to the creature comforts of Western civilization the first chance I got.
The doorman, Juan I think his name is, has been absolutely sweet about personally handling the packages and my gym duffel bag. I've decided that I just wanted to drop them off at home and meet Gerald in person. I've put off our talk long enough.
I open my Nokia cellular and press 7, the position for Gerald's private office line in my phone directory, then hit send. On the second ring he picks up.
Gerald: Simon, Simon and Leventhal. Gerald McGnathy speaking.
Amanda: Oh Gerald when are you going to make it to senior partner? You know time is ticking by.
Gerald: Amanda, dear. How are you?
Amanda: My abs are a freaking nightmare after Raoul tortured me for two hours. But you could care less about that.
Gerald: Amanda dear you know I am concerned about all that pertains to you.
Amanda: Good answer Gerald. Listen I'm three blocks away from your office. I will meet you for lunch so we can stop avoiding each other and you can tell me what's up.
Gerald: Amanda dear I wish I could but as you know this time of the year, near the holidays-
Amanda (impatiently I interrupt): I'm in the mood for fish so I'll meet you at the Aqua Grill.
Gerald: All right Amanda. I have to wrap up a few things here so I can make it there in thirty minutes.
Amanda: Make it twenty. We both know how I hate to wait. That should give me enough time to drain one White Zinfandel- which should mellow me out before your news pisses me off. See you in twenty.
I disconnect. Never give a man options when you want some thing specific. It gives them ideas that they can innovate - an exercise in futility designed to frustrate the hell out of you. I'm such a sexist. I laugh to myself all the way to the restaurant.
-----
I love the Aqua Grill. The wait staff is adorably cute, the red snapper is to die for and the banana foster is a sin that must be committed over and over again. As I take the last sip of my second glass of white wine, I am struck with the sobering thought of how desperately I need to get laid. Regularly.
Where the hell is Gerald? He's late for our date, which probably means it must be about something boring and legal.
Ah there is the old devil now. He is an impressively neat man with a full head of curly salt and pepper hair, wearing a ridiculously expensive Burberry suit and wing-tip shoes.
In his day, he must have frustrated marriage minded females on the prowl. He looks worried. Ahhh he smiled when he caught my gaze. I wonder what's going on with him. I hope he isn't sick or something.
Amanda: Gerald dear you've made me wait and now I'm pouty.
Gerald (kisses my cheek): Amanda I've been trying to call you to let you know I would be a few minutes tardy. I left a message. Is your phone off?
Amanda (after checking that my phone was indeed off): Well I have to pardon you now don't I?
My adorable waitress Melanie has arrived as well to take Gerald's drink order.
Melanie (genuine smile): Good afternoon Mr. McGnathy. What will you be having today?
Gerald: I'll have a small Chardonnay.
Melanie: Would you like a refill Ms. De Klerk-Zwart?
Amanda: Mel dear, remember it's Amanda. You'll have to take me home if I have another. So I'll definitely have another. We'll order now as well. I'll have my usual. Please no mushrooms, I detest them. Gerald?
Gerald: I'll have the grilled Mahi with steamed vegetables. Richard used to nag about eating more vegetables. He was right you know.
Gerald always finds a way to mention Richard in every conversation, as a way to preserve his memory, I suppose. Richard was his long time companion for twelve years until he died four years ago. Richard didn't die of AIDS or anything remotely lifestyle related. Richard had a passion for art in particular street art. He was walking down the street one day and happened upon a chalk sidewalk instillation of his favorite street artist Garcia. This particular instillation of Garcia, directed the viewer to follow the art down the street.
Unfortunately for Richard, he was hit by a taxi when he stopped to examine the art at his feet. The ironic thing was the cab was carting artist Garcia to the very museum where Richard was the assistant Curator. Richard literally died for his passion. At least he got out of this thing called life on his own terms.
-----
When Mother finally left Father, I was fifteen years old and it happened after one of their most heated arguments. I sat in the kitchen with the help, eating my dinner alone listening to them. Both of them said things to each other, which could never be forgiven nor forgotten. Father accused her of trying to seduce, Gerald. In retaliation, Mother accused Father of having an affair with Gerald.
I was shocked. Not about Father but Gerald! Father was very much the hot blooded hetero man who left no lacy panties unbreeched.
I always felt comfortable around Gerald before I knew this about him and he was the first real gay man I'd ever met. I recall thinking that he didn't look gay. He was very straight laced, serious and business-like with his socially distant politeness.
-----
Father was killed in a plane crash over South America when I was nineteen. Father arrogantly flew a small Cessna in bad weather and fatally discovered his true lack of power over life. Gerald stepped up amicably to the plate of paternal surrogacy.
In him I discovered a true friend as well as legal advisor. He was the one I finally came out to when I was angry, confused and twenty-one. Gerald was there when Mother tried to steal funds from Publishing interests and our philanthropic foundations, when she tried to use my private lifestyle to discredit me and influence the collective decision of the board of directors to censure me. She has more skeletons in her closet than me so her plans backfired on her.
In all these ways, Gerald is my family and in many ways he can be as frustrating.
Amanda: I avoid veggies if I can help it. If not, I endure the torture.
Luscious Mel brings Gerald his wine.
Amanda (said mostly for my ears): Although in small increments a little pain can be fun.
Gerald (annoyed): Are we done ordering?
Amanda (with humble contrition): Yes Gerald we are done for now but remember there's always dessert.
Gerald: I'm always too stuffed by the time dessert comes to enjoy even a morsel.
Amanda: That's because of all those veggies. They take up too much room in your tummy. You should do what I do on occasion: Eat the dessert first.
Gerald: I suppose.
Now I am curious why this empty conversation about lunch has dragged on so long when meticulous Gerald likes to discuss every minute detail of issues that require my immediate attention.
Our biweekly meetings have been missing in action the past month and I was not the one doing most of the avoiding. He would have told me if he was ill by now. I wonder if he is distracted by a new relationship?
I grimace shamefully that I'm intensely jealous that this suave 66 year old man is getting action while my 36 year old self is fast careening into Old Maid country.
Amanda: So Gerald how tricks?
Gerald slowly sips his wine then looks at me.
Gerald: I didn't send it out.
Amanda: Send what out?
Gerald: That ridiculous contract you wanted me to set up.
Now I'm confused. What contract?
Amanda: What contract?
Gerald: That reverse nondisclosure contract you wanted me to set up. Amanda you would have opened yourself up for a lawsuit if things went awry.
I'm listening to the classical guitar music piped over the PA of the restaurant. Trying to remember what Gerald is rambling on about.
Amanda: That's probably why I wanted you to do it personally instead of a clerk in your office. Just protect my interests then send it out. Come on tell me what's really going on.
Gerald: I thought you read the e-mails I sent?
Amanda: I glanced over them. You seem to be apologizing without stating what it was you are apologizing for.
The divine Mel directed a busboy to our table with our entrees. The snapper smelled wonderful. In fact, Gerald's tuna looked appetizing. The new sous chef did a good job in presentation.
I am amazed that Gerald was uncomfortable about a stinky little contract.
Gerald (whispers): Remember the plan?
Amanda (leaning forward and playing along): What plan Gerald?
Gerald rolls his eyes. You know I never saw a White man do that so well. Must be his gay gene.
Gerald (whispers): Woman In Financial Exigency.
Amanda: 1976 by Andy Warhol??
Gerald: I can't believe you're making me repeat this! Operation WIFE!
Amanda looks at Gerald, confused for a moment, before she blinks in recognition of the meaning of that particular phrase.
Amanda: Gerald! DON'T TELL ME YOU DIDN'T SEND OUT THE CONTRACT TO MY WRITER!!!!
Gerald: Amanda please keep your voice down. That's what I'm trying to tell you! What you wanted would have created an opening where that woman could sue you and win.
Amanda: I can't believe this. She must think I'm a flake. A lying flake! Gerald she's perfect!
I've lost my appetite. Here I was for one month, mentally bad mouthing her as a coward in not sharing her work and a liar, not truly being talented enough to write anything. I was very disappointed that I hadn't received her manuscript. I knew that fostering a relationship with her through her work if she truly had the talent would make it easier to develop that relationship into the direction I wanted.
Gerald: How do you know that she is talented?
Amanda: She has an aura of intelligent desperation. A tortured soul. Of course she's perfect.
Gerald: Good God Amanda is she even gay?
Amanda: Well... no. I mean I don't know...yet.
Gerald: If this woman realizes your true intentions and she isn't gay- She could sue you. She will sue you. I'd sue you, if I were her.
Amanda: Will you please stop saying that word. You sound like a broken record.
Gerald: Write down what you want me to say and then I'll read it to you.
Amanda: Now I know how you kept Richard's interest all those years.
Gerald: Amanda this isn't the way to find lasting companionship. I would love for you to experience what Richard and I had. I don't want you to end up bitter like-
Amanda (I interrupt him): My Mother. Gerald answer me one question: Was Richard your first choice?
Gerald (laughs): Actually I wasn't his. I was intrigued by him. He thought I was too stuffy when we first met. I didn't think he noticed me until I accidentally spilled wine on him and attempted to help him clean it off. I was mortified.
Amanda: See that proves my theory. I'll get no where going after what I'm attracted to. Those relationships have all ended up badly. The best relationships are between people who aren't initially into each other.
Gerald: That's not true! Your parents-
Amanda: Were hot for each other the first year of their marriage and went their separate ways years after. They could have saved me time in therapy if they broke up after I was born.
Gerald: Ok poor example but times were different back then. Don't let their mistakes become the basis of yours.
Amanda: Gerald she's totally not who I'd go after. All the other creative women I've had, had egos the size of the Grand Canyon . I often wondered when they had time to create with all the time the spent in front of mirrors or hogging all the attention in a room. There can be only one diva in this and that's me.
Gerald: You should stop this course of action.
Amanda: Did you contact her at all to let her know there would be a delay with the contract?
Gerald: Of course not!
Amanda: What is her address Gerald?
Gerald: Why do you need it?
Amanda: I'm going to have to personally undo your damage of omission.
Gerald: No Amanda I can't allow this! Do you know where she lives for God's sake?
Amanda: Yes after you give me her address.
Gerald: She lives in a crime ridden area of the city. Even the police are cautious uptown.
Amanda: Gerald your bias is showing. Give me her address, please.
Gerald: You can't go up there alone!
Amanda: I've been near there at a community college. The address Gerald, I've asked for it more times than is socially acceptable. I've even been polite. You know I rarely do polite. It's so dishonest.
Gerald: Fine.
He takes out is address book from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and writes my future wife's address on a cocktail napkin.
I look it over.
Amanda: Ready for a little adventure?
Gerald: You can't be entertaining the idea of going up there today? I have to return to work Amanda.
Amanda: No time like the present, besides Gerald consider this a field trip.
Gerald: Just remember I told you so Amanda. This could turn out very badly.
Amanda: Gerald if you want something you never had, you got to be willing to do something you've never done.
-----
Gerald wasn't kidding about this part of town. When I initially came up here the subway station was near the college so I wasn't truly introduced to the rhythm of this neighborhood.
In Gerald's Black Lincoln Town Car, we rode pass burned down buildings and miles of vacant lots. The complexion of the inhabitants has grown darker as well. I think we passed the invisible racial divide at 110th Street . I felt good that I would be taking my future bride away from all this depressing decay. The trick was getting her to that point. Her writing was my key.
Gerald pulls up in front of a row of attached brownstones. We cruised along slowly until we came to a colonial house numbered “591”. “591” looks like a neat house with a small black fence. Seven stone stairs climb to a dark red door.
I alight from Gerald's vehicle ignoring his incessant objections. I walk over to the fence, open it's latched gate and climb the stairs to the door. I knock. There is no answer so I knock again. Still no answer. I look at my wrist watch. It's 4:10 p.m.
I smile at myself in having coerced Gerald into yet another two and a half hour lunch. He works too hard and needs these breaks for his mental health. Well I'll just have to wait until somebody shows up. I sit down on the cold stone steps and Gerald waves hysterically at me from his car.
For twenty minutes we wait, me on the stairs and Gerald impatiently in his car. He steps out of it only once to procure me a hot tea from the corner store. I am sipping the remnants of it amazed it has stayed surprising hot the entire time!
I look down the street when my eyes delight upon my prize. She walks down the street carrying packages. She's taller than I remember and a lighter shade of brown. Funny how I didn't register that before. She's wearing a black knit hat, a dark gray three quarter jacket, jeans and brown high heel boots.
Oh that just burns me sometimes when tall people wear higher heeled shoes. They are already tall, how much taller do they want to be?
She seems to notice the Lincoln Town car before she notices me. She stops. Her eyes narrow before she continues towards her home.
Oh boy. I'll have my work cut out for me convincing her to let me help her.
She enters the gate, walks right pass me up the stairs to the door and begins unlocking it.
I stand behind her.
Amanda: Hi Nailah.
She doesn't turn to address me.
Nailah: What are you doing here?
Amanda: There was a delay with the contract... I've come by to let you know I genuinely want to help you find work with your writing.
She finishes unlocking the front door to her home and turns towards me. Oh boy she really isn't pleased. I hope she isn't violent.
Amanda: That is if you haven't found something on your own already.
That thought disappointed me as I'll have an even more difficult time finding another as promising as her.
Nailah: I've stopped writing so there is no need for your assistance.
Amanda: You've stopped! I hope is wasn't because my lawyer didn't contact you. He was overly obsessing about protecting my interests that's all.
Nailah: Who's in the Lincoln ?
Amanda: My lawyer Gerald. Do you want to meet him? Maybe if he meets you he'll know you wouldn't try to sue me.
Nailah: I'm no longer looking for a writing job.
Amanda (disappointed): I was looking forward to reading what you've written.
Nailah: Why?
Amanda: I just had a feeling that your stuff would be really different. That it could make a name for you in the literary circles if it fell into the right hands.
Nailah: I'm not interested in that any longer.
Amanda: I could have the contract here by tonight if you change your mind.
Nailah: Why are you so interested in my stuff? What's in it for you?
Amanda: Discovery of a new talent. You may even inspire me to get writing my own work. I'm trying to build a creative community around me.
Nailah: Well I hope you're successful with that. Are we done?
Amanda: Could I read what you've written so far?
Nailah: What for? I'm not gonna finish it.
Amanda: So what will is hurt if I read it?
Nailah: Why are you so fixated on my scribbles. If you want an honest opinion the stuff isn't all that compelling. It needs more work than I can devote to it. I have more pressing concerns.
Amanda: Of course you don't think it's much! You're the author! Has anyone else read your work?
Nailah: My Aunt.
Amanda: She lives here with you?
Nailah: It's her house.
Amanda: I have a feeling that your novella is promising and I haven't read any of it yet nor do I know what it's about. Let me make you a proposal: Let me read chapter one as we've originally agreed. I'll pay you a reading fee of $500. If your writing really sucks, I'll mail the manuscript back and you get to keep the reading fee. If your work has promise, I'll find you a publisher and I'll have Gerald negotiate a first time writing fee of $50,000, as an advance.
She looks at me like I've grown an extra head. I smile.
Nailah: Look if you want it so badly you can take the damn thing. I'm still not going to work on it anymore.
She turns away and steps inside. I note she doesn't invite me inside. I am concerned about her defeated attitude and I wonder how much of a blow to her psyche was the delay in my getting back in touch with her over all this.
After a considerable long period of awkwardness, she returns to the front door with a light brown envelope. She hands it to me.
Nailah: Here do what you want with it.
I take it from her. I feel as though she is finalizing our interaction with this gesture. I need to make sure she knows that she hasn't seen the last of me.
I call Gerald over to the house, introduce him to Nailah and have him hand her three crisp one hundred dollar bills and ten twenties. She looks at him then me.
Amanda: Nope I promised you I'd find you work writing and you just got what is probably the first of what may be many years of a writing career. At least, I kept up my part of the deal.
I left the rest unsaid but she got my drift as I saw it register in her warm brown eyes.
Nailah: Okay it's your dime.
Amanda: Actually now it's yours. Let's go Gerald. I'll contact you after I've read this.
We departed leaving that tall, dark woman standing in the open doorway of her Auntie's home to ponder what's going to happen next.
I had my in.
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