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On Sale: Now
Paperback
288 pages
ISBN: 1401308023
The national bestseller, now in paperback, from the writing team that Publishers Weekly calls "the Edith Wharton of new black money."
Deception, desire, and betrayal. And that's just the first page! From the boardroom to the bedroom, from the coolest scenes to the hottest spots, Tonya Lewis Lee and Crystal McCrary Anthony invite you to enter the world of the super rich, the super powerful, and the super sexy.
Gotham Diaries introduces:
Manny Marks, who reinvented himself from his humble Southern beginnings to become a bon vivant Manhattan real-estate broker. Now corrupted by the city's hype, he's learning the hard way that everything has a price tag -- even his soul.
Tandy Brooks, a fading society queen on the brink of financial ruin who has friends in possession of everything she needs to keep her afloat in the shark-infested waters of Manhattan -- it's just a matter of usurping it.
Ed Thomas, a self-made man of power and prestige with refined tastes in art, music, literature, and women, but his roguish ways mean he has to face his own demons or risk losing the one possession he treasures most -- his wife.
Lauren Thomas, an accomplished African-American princess who believed in the fairy tale when she married Ed for love, temporarily putting aside her own dreams and ambitions to be a doting wife. But is love enough to sustain her?
Wolves in sheep's clothing --- in this case designer clothing --- prey on sacrificial lambs in this titillating, rags-to-riches roman à clef that cleverly skewers the dazzling and treacherous New York social scene. Authors Tonya Lewis Lee and Crystal McCrary Anthony, whom reviewers have aptly christened "the Edith Wharton of new black money," perfectly capture the dog-eat-dog world of the privileged Manhattan elite where entry is gained --- and just as easily lost --- by merit of a fat bank account and an even fatter rolodex filled with the right names. As the ambitious social strivers in GOTHAM DIARIES discover, no one is exempt from becoming a part of the food chain in the city's Darwinian struggle for money, class and power.
While many books have chronicled the meteoric rise and precipitous fall of up-and-comers struggling to break into the ranks of New York society, GOTHAM DIARIES manages to stand out from the pack by merit of both its unique milieu --- that of the new class of African-American elite --- and its authenticity. The glamorous and successful writing duo behind the book have themselves been fixtures on the glittering social circuit (Lee is the wife of filmmaker Spike Lee and Anthony was formerly wed to NBA player Greg Anthony), giving them inside access to the dishy details and pitch-perfect characterizations that make the book so tantalizing.
The authors also humorously underscore the adage that the rich truly are different, be they black or white, and that even the right looks, marriage, pedigree, and connections are no guarantee of a lifetime of success and happiness. This truism is driven home by the similar plights of the novel's three very different characters whose gilded lives are perilously in danger of losing their luster.
The one with most to lose is handsome Manny Marks, a gay self-made real estate magnate who's finally at the top of his game seventeen years after arriving from Alabama with nothing but the proverbial clothes on his back and a desire to make it big. While his hard work, smooth talking, and street smarts (as well as some well-placed derriere-kissing) have paid off handsomely, his greed has gotten the best of him and an unethical business deal with the conniving Tandy Brooks may well prove to be his last.
Tandy, a fading middle-aged society doyenne whose world is crumbling down amidst the mountain of debt accumulated by her deceased husband, will stop at nothing to retain her place at the top of the social heap --- even if it means sacrificing her friends along the way. Unfortunately, the unwitting victim caught in her crosshairs is the kind and generous Lauren Thomas, who's facing struggles of her own under the shadow of her larger-than-life husband, a billionaire businessman famous for his conquests both in the boardroom and in the bedroom.
Delivering a healthy dose of old-fashioned comeuppance alongside a delicious slice of Manhattan-style justice, this thoroughly entertaining send-up of the moneyed class proves that not much has changed in the century since Wharton and James famously chronicled the gilded society of their generation. Crass social climbing, naked ambition, copious greed, and green-eyed envy seem to remain firmly rooted in certain quarters of American life, providing writers (and readers) with a delicious source of voyeuristic and humorous satire about the dizzying highs and humbling lows of the privileged class.
--- Reviewed by Joni Rendon
• Click here now to buy this book from Amazon.
"Lee and Anthony provide enough romance, self-doubt -- and fashion tips -- for women jonesing for Sex and the City. They know readers just gotta have it."
-Newsweek
"A juicy roman à clef . . ."
-O, The Oprah Magazine
"This juicy foray into New York's African American society features scheming characters who rival anyone you'll read about in the tabloids."
-Glamour
"An evocative and gripping tale."
-Ebony Magazine
"A decadent romp that's sure to entertain while reminding readers that money isn't everything . . . You've got the perfect escape package, whether your destination is the backyard, the bathtub or the beach."
-People
"Ambition, Betrayal and Class are the ABCs of this millennium tale of Edith Wharton proportion. GOTHAM DIARIES is a thrill ride that keeps us wondering as to when just deserts will be served and whose claws will be used to eat them."
-Brian Keith Jackson,
author of THE QUEEN OF HARLEM
"This titillating debut novel is irresistible; a richly absorbing tale of Manhattan's upper crust, packed with sex, lies and backstabbing, and a heroine you're truly rooting for. GOTHAM DIARIES is written with heart and intensity, and describes a luxurious world few ever have the opportunity to glimpse."
-E. Lynn Harris
"GOTHAM DIARIES is a poignant and deeply moving exploration of love and intimacy, race and class within the African-American community at the dawn of a new century."
-Henry Louis Gates, Jr.
Tonya Lewis Lee, former corporate attorney turned writer and children's television producer, is also co-author of the successful children's book Please Baby Please. Since 1998 she has produced various programming for Nickelodeon and Noggin. She lives in New York with her husband, Spike Lee, and their two children.
Crystal McCrary Anthony was an entertainment attorney in Manhattan before pursuing a writing career. Since that time she has written for several magazines and co-authored the Blackboard bestselling novel Homecourt Advantage. She lives in New York City with her two children.
CHAPTER ONE
Looking good had become a way of life for Manny Marks. His outward appearance was vital to his existence. Whenever he stepped out of his Harlem brownstone, he made sure to put forth the best image money and connections could buy. In the fiercely competitive Manhattan real estate business, perception could easily become reality. And Manny's immediate reality was that he was trying to impress his new clients, even if he was tired of selling real estate.
Today Manny Marks was decked out in his finest summer's threads: khaki linen slacks, crisp white shirt open at the collar with an Etro rust-and-navy-checked sport coat. The jacket accentuated his suntanned cocoa-brown skin and chemically whitened teeth. He had been told over the years that he had a great smile, so he took care of that asset almost as carefully as he maintained his thirty-six-year-old lean, muscular physique. The Hermes handkerchief in his
left pocket was an extra touch; Manny hoped it would signal to the world that he was a man of refinement.
The first stop of the day would be a scenic walk with his new clients, the Joneses, before their first appointment at 515 Park Avenue, a condominium building friendly to new black money. Normally he would have greeted his current patrons with car and driver at their hotel if they were out-of-towners, like the Joneses--or at their homes, if they were city inhabitants, which he preferred. Occasionally clients met him at the property he was showing. But today was the first time in August that the temperature had dropped below 90 degrees, and the Manhattan air was breathable for a change. It even seemed free from the exaggerated summer scents--burning
pretzels, peanuts, sour mustard, gyros, and onions. A crispness descended upon Manhattan near the end of the summer.
Then there were the Joneses. Even if they were Tandy Brooks's friends, Eric and Tamara Jones were Midwest imports and required handholding, something Manny had grown weary of unless the people were special contacts worthy of cultivation. The Joneses were
anything but special in Manny's eyes; the "barely" millionaires no longer intrigued him. The real bother, however, wasn't their lack of large funds. Rather, he found them dull. They both were so ordinary in their drab, midlevel designer wear, and they lacked sophistication. But Tandy had hand-delivered them and expected him to take care of them. And that was an order Manny dared not disobey.
Manny reminded himself that a commission from anyone was money in the bank. Despite the Joneses' shortcomings, Manny still needed to make sure the young African-American couple from Flossmoor, Illinois, trusted him enough to buy a three-million-dollar apartment from him. The broker's image had a significant impact on potential buyers, a concept Manny had learned early in his career, and he had set up the showing to underscore that he was the real deal. His firm's solid reputation came from strategic planning carefully managed over the course of many years. As the trio navigated the array of fashionable shoppers striding down Madison Avenue, Manny tried to imagine Tamara Jones fitting in with the throngs of chic people. Manhattan could either excite and stimulate newcomers--giving them the opportunity to live their lives to the richest and fullest of their imaginations--or chew them up and spit them out, breaking them in the process. Manny didn't see Tamara's dream in these streets.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Marks," the portly black doorman from Hermes called out to Manny as they passed the posh store filled with women begging to spend six thousand on a Birkin bag.
"Hello!" Manny returned, noting out of the corner of his eye the Joneses watching the exchange. Impressing upon them his familiarity with the neighborhood and its inhabitants was crucial. They had to feel that Madison Avenue was accessible to Manny and to them. The high-priced boutiques often intimidated newcomers, the snooty salespeople making them feel unworthy. Manny was certain that despite their lack of savoir faire, the midwestern couple knew the significance of Madison Avenue. Each passing acknowledgment from the neighborhood regulars heightened Manny's image. His familiarity with this world, where the city's natives stepped in and out of jewelry stores, spoke into their cells while carrying bags from Barneys, or hailed taxis with the ease of dancers, would hopefully demystify the surroundings for his clients.
As they waited at the corner of Sixty-fourth and Madison waiting for the light to change, looking toward the Krizia boutique, Fifi Pennywhistle stepped out of her chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce,
undoubtedly for a day of running up her credit cards. Manny could not have scripted the scene any better as Fifi leaned in to him, air-kissing both cheeks as if he were her long-lost stepson.
"How aah you, dahling?" she asked. Fifi was a rail-thin Upper East Side staple with a penchant for Chanel suits and oversize round glasses. He had met her when he worked at Tiffany, before opening his own real estate firm. Fifi tipped along in her Ferragamos, gesticulating with her hands; the sun glinted off her assortment of large rings, adornments that overpowered her frail physique-beauty long gone but baubles remaining like artifacts from a better era.
Manny responded mock-humbly, a technique Tandy had taught him. "Fine, dear, just earning my keep."
"I'd say you've earned your keep quite well." Fifi winked at Manny. "So, when are you going to the Vineyard?"
Manny was pleased that she had mentioned his vacationing at the Vineyard in front of the Joneses. He exaggerated his southern drawl, which northerners like Fifi found charming. "You think all I do is vacation? Some of us do have to work." Fifi giggled, looking charmed
by her exchange with Manny. She should be happy. His last Tiffany "deal" for her had been a 15 percent discount on the seventy-five sterling-silver charm bracelets she bought as shower gifts for her daughter's wedding.
"You are so adorable. Isn't he adorable?" she asked, patting his cheek and glancing in the direction of the Joneses, though not expecting a response. She continued on her mission. In Fifi's eyes, no one was really important outside of her enclave, least of all the Joneses, but her acknowledgment of Manny was invaluable.
"Who was that?" Tamara asked.
"Fifi Pennywhistle. She was one of my former bosses' clients. Very wealthy. I think her father had a steel company or something." Manny purposefully neglected his days as a jewelry salesman.
"She looks like steel money." Tamara ogled as if she had come in contact with Queen Elizabeth. Fifi had that effect; she may have clinched the deal for him. At last Tamara was truly impressed. She actually smiled. Before witnessing the small grin that spread across her face, Manny hadn't thought she was physically able to lift her heavy jowls into a smile.
Manny was feeling full of himself by this time. This was the high he experienced every time he felt like an insider--a true New Yorker. He was prepared to sell the Joneses all of Central Park. As they continued up Madison, his clients seemed to relax, seeming to realize they were in good hands. Manny was their safari guide through the jungle of Manhattan. He picked up his stride, confident in looking every bit the part of an Upper East Sider, even though he hailed from Alabama.
Times had changed a lot for Manny since that day, over seventeen years before, when he'd shown up at his cousin Tommy's fourth-floor walk-up in Brooklyn. He'd been carrying his footlocker turned suitcase and wearing the ill-fitting Brooks Brothers suit he had gotten as a high school graduation present from his grandparents. Manny sat on the dry, cracked wood floor of Tommy's hallway all night, waiting for his cousin to return. The smell of fried fish seeped out of another apartment, making Manny's stomach growl. But even that didn't bother him, because he had finally arrived in New York City. If he had stayed one more day in Birmingham, he would have blown his brains out. He never would have survived working for his father's construction company, and his mother would have spun in her grave if he had taken a job at the Haley department store selling cutlery--his only other prospect. Instead, he took the money his grandparents had given him--another graduation gift--and bought a one-way ticket to New York.
When he arrived, he sat falling asleep outside Tommy's door, waiting for his cousin to get home from his job as a bartender in a place called the Village. But Manny was so excited he didn't mind the smell or the discomfort in the dimly lit stairwell. He was ready to start a new life. As a gay black young boy, he had never fit in in Alabama. Not that he had ever told anyone he didn't much like girls. He simply never dated one, except at prom, to which he took Lucille Pritkins, who had sat next to him in typing class their senior year. Truth be told, she didn't have much interest in boys.
Tommy's voice woke Manny from his nodding: "What you doin' down there on the floor with your country ass?"
As soon as Manny looked up at Tommy's towering physique, high-top curly fade, catlike green eyes, and tight, tight blue jeans-tighter than Manny had ever dared to wear--he knew he had made the right decision. He stood up to properly greet his older cousin like his mother had taught him. He could not stop smiling.
"What you so d amn happy about?" Tommy said as he unlocked what seemed to Manny a Fort Knox of bolts before opening his door. Manny followed behind his worldly older cousin like a puppy dog.
When they entered the one-room apartment, Manny's eyes roamed over the tie-dyed sheets hanging from the ceilings. His gaze lingered on the cozy space, a bed in the middle of the room covered with an assortment of colorful velvet pillows. Manny wondered what it would feel like to lie in such an indulgent bed. It seemed so plush. Tommy must have been reading his mind as he said, "You get the couch."
Manny felt tongue-tied and silently nodded. He hoped he hadn't done something wrong already. Tommy pulled back a black velvet curtain, exposing a small yellowing refrigerator. He opened the freezer compartment and pulled out a plastic bag filled with a brown weedy- looking substance. He pulled out some papers and rolled the stuff into something resembling a cigarette. Manny watched in amazement at this new world, where his own family member seemed so self-assured, so at ease with himself, as if he didn't give a d amn what anyone else thought of him. After lighting the cigarette that didn't smell like a regular cigarette, Tommy finally seemed to notice Manny again. "Let me look at you. Take that tired-ass jacket off, looks like yo' daddy's coat."
Tommy's eyes felt like ray guns. Manny was frozen.
"I'm not going to bite you, I'm just checking you out. You turned into a good-looking kid. A little skinny, but we'll buff you up. The boys will love you here."
Manny's face was on fire. How did Tommy know? Was it that obvious, or did Manny simply remind Tommy of himself when he arrived in New York ready to "find himself"?
"You need some new clothes, though. You got some money?"
"Yeah."
"Good, we'll go to SoHo and get you some new stuff. You also have to
pay me rent."
"I know, Daddy told me."
"Good. Then we understand each other. We'll have...we'll have--" Tommy stammered as he began to cough uncontrollably. Probably from the stinky cigarette, Manny thought. "We'll have fun. Right now I need--some sleep," Tommy said, still not gathering himself from the coughing spell. "We'll go out, eat, shop, do the town when I get up."
Manny excitedly sat on the small covered sofa, unable to go to sleep, he was so thrilled. Tommy's nap turned into a six-hour fitful sleep filled with grunts, groans, coughs, and whispering. But when he woke, he took a shower, put on black leather jeans and a white T- shirt, and looked like he'd slept all night and was ready to party again.
That day Manny fell in love with Tommy and New York City. Tommy took him all over the Village, which was nothing like the village Manny had envisioned. Manny bought the tightest jeans he could wiggle his little butt into, size 27. And then Tommy opened up to him the New
York he had dreamed of, filled with dancing, clubs, drinking, partying, and men. Manny lost his virginity in New York at the health club where he started working out with Tommy. Life was idyllic for the two of them, until that morning Tommy didn't get out of bed and something called AIDS was the culprit. Then the tough times began. Tommy withered and died. Manny was out of money, and there was no way he would go back to Alabama.
Continuing their walk, Manny was pumped up by the thought that even though he lived in Harlem, he truly was an Upper East Side staple. He had become a member of Manhattan's society, albeit a junior member. With Tandy Brooks, a living legend in New York society, and
It Girl Lauren Thomas as his biggest fans, he had been propelled to near-star status as a real estate broker to the African-American elite. Still, a mere real estate broker would never be a major
player--a thought that was weighing on his mind more and more these days. He had yet to make the transaction that would put him over the top, give him some f uck-you money and social respect. Despite the fact that he owned and operated the most profitable African-American
real estate firm in Manhattan, to many, he was only a highly paid salesman.
"You know the neighborhood quite well, I see," Eric Jones, a light-skinned classic pretty boy who had eaten one too many cookies, remarked in what Manny interpreted as an appraisal.
"Fifteen years in the business will do that."
"Fifteen years in New York?"
Manny proudly nodded as they walked past Daniel, currently the best restaurant in New York City, housed in one of Donald Trump's many converted condominiums.
"What about the accent?" Eric asked. Manny was immediately suspicious of the question. Eric was from the Midwest, a place where plenty of black southerners had migrated. A southern drawl wouldn't be deemed charming in Flossmoor, Illinois, like it was in New York.
Manny gave what had become his "story" once he started working at Tiffany: "I'm originally from Birmingham, Alabama, but I moved to New York for college." Everyone seemed to respect a student who worked part-time to make ends meet.
"Oh?" Eric said, perking up. His wife continued to walk silently beside him. Manny almost felt bad for her. The raw energy of the city streets seemed to stifle her. He could see how things would probably go once they relocated. Eric would have many late nights, going to working dinners and fund-raisers. At first he would invite his wife. She would go once, maybe twice, and be intimidated by the high-octane crowd. She would stop accompanying him to social and
business outings, preferring to stay home alone. He would stop inviting her. Then Manny would start running into Eric around town, surrounded by plenty of company. Manny did not envision the two of them lasting. Attractive, aggressive men like Eric always seemed to
need a little extra attention once they started believing the hypethe city fed them.
Eric continued, "Where'd you do your undergraduate work?"
Manny felt a gnawing prick. He did not appreciate Eric prying into his personal business. What difference should it make where he went to school, thought Manny, feeling slightly inadequate. Eric Jones would be the type to ask where someone did his undergraduate work with the implication that he had an advanced degree as well.
"I went to New York University," Manny said, then quickly changed the subject, reaching into his thin brown leather briefcase and removing the day's itinerary. "The first apartment we're seeing today is in estate condition, with about twenty-five hundred square feet of space, three wood-burning fireplaces, an eat-in kitchen, and good light." He hoped these country clients understood that in NewYork, a deteriorated apartment could cost millions just because of its location. Famed agent Barbara Corcoran had put her seal of approval on estate-condition property when, early in her career, she offered one of New York's prominent families a "thirty-two-milliondollar fixer-upper." Manny looked at Tamara and Eric to read their faces. The first sell on the first day was always the most difficult.
"And how much is this one?" Tamara asked, with an edge Manny had not heard from her.
Manny glanced at the price on the itinerary, even though he already knew the answer. He hated this part with people like the Joneses. "The asking price is three million."
"For twenty-five hundred square feet?" Tamara's voice rose an octave.
Manny stopped himself from showing any emotion as he silently wished that out-of-towners buying property would first bone up on Manhattan real estate values. Taking a deep breath, he tried to muster as much sympathy as possible before answering. All he could bring himself to say was "Apartments with that much space in this area command a lot of money." He stopped short of calling her "honey."
Manny knew he sounded a bit short, but his patience was running thin. He was tired of coaxing people out of their sticker shock, especially people who had the money but didn't know how to spend it. Whiners. Yes, Manhattan real estate was pricey. Either get with the program or go to New Jersey. Manny hated having to convince people of the value of the city. If they didn't understand that the convenience and style of living in the world's royal city had a huge price tag, then Manny didn't want to deal with them. In any case, these two were not his first choice in clientele. True, Eric Jones was a successful Chicago businessman and on the rise in New York City. But he had no style. If Tandy had not referred them, Manny probably would have been at Martha's Vineyard for Lauren's last summer weekend at the house.
"Why don't we go inside and get a good idea of how the space lays out. Twenty-five hundred square feet can be very spacious. And you can always move walls to make whatever rooms you want."
"Hmph." Tamara seemed to be growing more comfortable. "That's about the size of my guest wing."
Manny refrained from saying, "Then stay the hell in Flossmoor!" He suggested they go upstairs and take a look. He then reassured them that they had only just begun their search, and there was plenty onthe market for them to see. The sticker-shock virus had just begun,
and so had Manny's headaches.
CHAPTER TWO
As she entered the grand dining room of the Pierre Hotel, elegantly
set for an illustrious crowd's luncheon, Tandy Brooks reflected on
the many gatherings that she had organized for charitable events in
New York, stopping short of becoming nostalgic. No need for that
right now. Today she was here as an honored guest for all of her
work in helping to raise millions of dollars for Manhattan's most
prestigious charities. However, her mood was not joyful. She was
preoccupied, thinking, planning how to make sure this event would
not be her last hurrah.
At fifty-one, Tandy could rival any woman from thirty on up. Her
cocoa-brown skin was flawless, barely a wrinkle in sight, thanks to
many facials and expensive creams. Her dark brown hair, perfectly
styled in her weekly visits to the salon, hung just above her
shoulders. Finishing her sophisticated look was her vintage beige
Chanel suit with gold buttons. She had purchased the outfit fifteen
years ago, when she bought new couture every season before it hit
the stores. Her weight stayed consistent, at 122, though at five
feet six, maintaining her size had become occasionally painful. But
pain was something Tandy thrived on. She had been through so much,
yet still she seemed to hold it together.
She looked down at the ecru card with gold calligraphy that she had
received upon checking in, to see where she would be seated. As she
began to make her way toward the front of the room, Lisa, a petite
blond woman, rushed up to give Tandy a kiss on each cheek.
"Tandy, you look great, as always. You're sitting at table two,
right next to the stage."
"Thank you, Lisa. Everything looks lovely. You did a remarkable
job," Tandy said.
"You are so kind. I learned from the best. Are you going to help me
on the foster-care event next year? We really missed you this time
around. It wasn't the same without you."
"I don't know. I still feel like it might be too soon. I'll let you
know, though," Tandy answered, looking deeply into Lisa's eyes,
making sure the young woman could feel her hesitancy.
"I understand. No pressure. But you are irreplaceable."
"Thank you." Tandy smiled humbly and continued on to her table.
Already milling about the orchid-filled table was the other honoree
of the day, Jennifer Walters. Jennifer was a philanthropic wonder.
Her parents were wealthy, having made their money in the rail
industry. She had married well, of course, to a man whose fortune
came from his parents' multi-media empire, though he also had a
grand career as a lawyer. Jennifer, a smart woman with a good heart
and a large pocketbook, had given millions over the years to New
York arts organizations, children's groups, the homeless, and HIV
awareness. Next to her Tandy felt a little small; not that she was
intimidated, but she realized that her recent troubles were going to
push her further and further away from this important scene that she
had worked so hard to crack. Even in death, her husband's weakness
would plague her.
Tandy's journey to this day had been hard-fought. As a young girl,
Tandy had always known that she would live among the most important
2 percent of the population. She dreamed of dining with the rich and
rubbing elbows with the famous. For black people in Chicago, her
parents were well off. Her father owned a funeral home, and her
mother took care of the house and of Tandy and her younger brother.
Tandy was the classic overachiever, always vying for approval from
her father, who rarely gave it. Thus Tandy worked harder. Her
brother, on the other hand, felt that their father never expected
anything out of him, so he didn't want to disappoint. At twenty-two,
he died from a drug overdose, though Tandy and her parents preferred
to call it a suicide. Around the time of her brother's death, Tandy
met Phil Brooks. She was in law school at Boston University. He was
finishing his JD/MBA at Harvard. Phil was smart and knew all the
right people, white as well as African-American. She saw him as her
chance at the life she had dreamed of. And for a while they lived
that fairy tale.
Phil would do anything for Tandy. When she wanted a new home with a
better address, he provided it, even though he felt they couldn't
afford it. When she wanted expensive clothes, he never told her no.
When she insisted they send their daughter, Deja, to the most
expensive school in New York, he pulled it off. Not that Phil wasn't
making a lot of money. He was a partner in one of the biggest law
firms in New York. He was well respected and well liked among his
peers. He worked hard and was compensated accordingly. But living in
Manhattan was expensive, especially with a wife who had a social
agenda. The annual two-hundred-thousand-dollar charitable
contributions were just the beginning of a lifestyle that could
bankrupt even the most highly paid workingman.
"Tandy! This is so exciting." Carol Wharton beamed and hugged Tandy
forcefully. "You know this year is so special for me. I am so happy
to award 'you,' someone I have grown with over the last ten years.
Isn't it something? We have truly come a long way, baby." Carol and
Tandy laughed and reminisced about turning a small idea into a
large, important New York City organization.
Indeed, Tandy had given a lot to MotherLove, the brainchild of Carol
Wharton. Carol's husband, Mathew, and Phil had gone to Harvard
together. They remained friends after school and inevitably ran into
each other over business dealings. Carol and Tandy had hit it off
immediately. Carol had attended Harvard Law School a couple of years
behind her husband. She worked for about five years, three more than
Tandy, then became a housewife/socialite.
Bored with being simply a lady who lunched, Carol came up with
MotherLove, an organization designed to help homeless mothers get
back on their feet. She enlisted Tandy from the very beginning.
Tandy was happy to get involved. She knew helping Carol would put
Tandy in the company of some very well-connected people. Carol and
her husband were both lifetime New Yorkers. They knew everyone of
importance. Anything on which Carol put her stamp eventually became
a darling of New York. In just ten short years, MotherLove grew from
a small living room operation to a multimillion-dollar nonprofit
organization supported by corporations, foundations, and celebrities
nationwide. Tandy was being honored today for her help in propelling
MotherLove, and for her work in the various other charities in which
she had gotten involved.
Today should have been exciting for Tandy. She had worked so hard to
be a part of this world, and she had succeeded. But she was
concerned about the next thirty years. She was supposed to be secure
for the rest of her life. But not only was she in a position where
sustaining her annual contributions would, embarrassingly, have to
stop; she would also have to figure out how to make ends meet, a
situation she had never been in before. Still, she would persevere.
Though it might take some time, Tandy was working on a plan to dig
herself out of the huge hole in which her husband had left her.
Lunch was served: mesclun salad followed by poached salmon with dill
sauce. As chocolate cake with raspberry sauce was being placed
before the ladies, the program began. Lisa stood at the podium,
thanking everyone for attending and contributing to the lunch, which
had netted five hundred thousand dollars. The crowd gave a
thunderous applause for all of their donations. Lisa then introduced
Carol Wharton, who would be handing out the awards to her honored
guests. The first award would be given to Jennifer. Her
contributions, though large, had come only in the last few years,
though she was being recognized for the many other organizations
that her golden touch had graced. She accepted her award, going on
about herself and how she had become involved in community outreach
as a child because her parents made her and her siblings serve
Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners to the poor. She learned then
that what seemed like a little gesture could make a huge difference
in one person's world. She closed her lengthy speech by
congratulating Tandy as well.
Carol explained that the next award was so special to her because
Tandy had supported her from the very beginning of MotherLove. "Were
it not for Tandy's efforts, and I truly mean this, MotherLove would
not be the organization it is today. Tandy is one of the hardest-
working, most dedicated people I know. I could call Tandy at any
hour of the day or night, and she always had time to listen to me
and help me figure out a plan. She gave to us her time, her money,
and her spirit. New York is better because of her. On behalf of
MotherLove and the numerous other charities in New York that have
consistently depended on Tandy Brooks for her never-ending energy
and devotion, we thank you. Tandy, come on up and get your award."
The crowd stood in ovation as Tandy gracefully moved to the podium.
Her work was well known throughout New York, thanks to the publicity
she procured for every bit of labor she put out. And though Phil had
died a year ago, Tandy made sure the publicity reminded everyone of
the tragedy and how she still mourned.
As Tandy reached the podium, she kissed Carol's cheek and claimed
the crystal statue of a nude woman with wings holding a baby. She
weighed the heavy sculpture in her right hand and gathered herself
to say a few words of appreciation.
She began without any notes. "Thank you all. Carol, you are so kind.
MotherLove has had and will always have a special place in my heart.
The women I worked with in this organization are strong and smart
and committed to more than themselves. I have learned so much from
them. I have been given perspective and strength from the women we
have served, the homeless mothers, through their strength and their
stories of perseverance and faith. As you know, I lost my husband a
year ago. Philip Brooks was a man of wisdom and integrity, someone
who guided me, someone whom I respected." Tandy paused for effect.
"He supported all of my endeavors. Without him, my service for
MotherLove and everything else would have been so small. So Phil,
this is for you."
With that, she kissed the award and shoved it up toward the heavens.
"Thank you," she said into the microphone and stepped to the side
for a photo op with Carol. The crowd roared with applause again.
Tandy briefly wondered in which publication these shots would
appear. She could feel the warm glow of empathy gushing from the
room toward her. She had learned that playing it humble to the
public was the classiest route to go. No one liked a braggart. That
was better left to people like her personal publicist, Rory Nixon,
or the suck-ups who worshiped Tandy. And she always played her
husband up, even if she thought he'd been an asshole. No woman
looked good trashing her man. Even the feminists couldn't argue with
her for loving her husband, as long as she got the credit for her
work.
Gathering her belongings from the table, Tandy pushed back a gnawing
feeling of dread in her stomach. As much as she wanted to enjoy the
moment, she couldn't help but feel that she had just participated in
her own funeral. All of the accolades had made her queasy, since she
knew that as things stood now, she would not be able to keep up with
her track record of the last ten years. The shame of poverty would
hurt, but not as much as the thought of being a social outcast.
Bidding the socialites farewell, Tandy stepped out into the warm
fall air and took in a deep breath. Walking toward her co-op, she
rationalized that while things may have been bad, she was still in
New York, living on Fifth Avenue. Somehow, some way, she would make
sure that today's honoree would remain the toast of the town.
CHAPTER THREE
Lauren Thomas watched from her enormous walk-in closet as her
husband, Ed, stood in front of his bathroom vanity mirror with a
towel wrapped around his waist, slowly shaving the five o'clock
shadow from his chin. For Lauren, it was hard to remember that Ed
was twenty years her senior. Six feet tall, he had beautiful skin
and kept his body in great shape. At fifty-five, Ed still had a six-
pack. He was one fine-looking man, she thought to herself.
"Lauren, come on. You need to hurry up. If we don't leave in twenty
minutes, we are going to be late. You don't look even close to
ready," Ed admonished her.
"I was just admiring my fine husband. You are so handsome. I'll be
ready in a minute. I don't know why we have to arrive exactly on
time," she pouted.
"You know I have to leave early to get to San Francisco. I'd like to
be able to stay long enough to pay my respects to the museum. I'm a
board member, and they're counting on me. Besides, the Museum of
Harlem is a great organization for you to start getting involved in.
You could take over my seat, and that would be one less thing on my
list to do."
Oh, great, he was telling her again what she needed to do with her
life, Lauren thought. She turned herself to face the mess that her
closet had become over the last hour. Shoes and handbags were strewn
all over the floor. Three gowns, each a different color and style,
hung along the closet racks.
Lauren had been in the process of getting dressed for the last
ninety minutes, yet her naturally curly, shoulder-length chestnut
hair was still in a messy upsweep, and her makeup looked as though
someone had thrown paint on her face. She was not usually so
discombobulated, but this black-tie gala benefiting the Museum of
Harlem made her uncomfortable. The barons of black society would be
in attendance, along with well-to-do cultured white patrons of the
arts. The stature of the attendees did not make Lauren miserable;
she knew most of them from growing up with them in Westchester. More
frustrating for her were the condescending glances and stage-
whispered comments coming from people envious of her union with Ed.
Throughout the four years of her marriage, Lauren had learned that
most of the people in the crowd--even some of her mother's friends--
felt she was not equipped to be married to such a powerful man.
People would knock into her or push her over to get to Ed. They were
rude and disrespectful. Women flirted with Ed in front of her as if
she weren't standing there holding his hand. And when they did
acknowledge her, they would say, "Oh, you're Ed Thomas's wife. Lucky
girl." When Lauren complained to Ed, his only comment was "Why do
you care what those people think of you?"
Lauren knew that tonight would be much easier to endure if Ed were
more empathetic. Lauren was feeling a subtle chill from her
husband--something unclear, unsettling. She could not articulate her
feelings, certainly not to him. There was no tangible issue to
discuss. Still, her instincts were on alert to a potential problem
in their relationship.
As she put the finishing touches on her face and hair, Ed lovingly
placed his chin on her shoulder. "You have so much going for you.
Make tonight fun. Your friends will be there, and I know for a fact
the people from the museum are anxious to talk with you about any
ideas you might have on your vision of the museum. I've been telling
them about you."
"Why, why do we have to do these things? Can't we stay home tonight
and watch a movie like we used to? Do you have to go out of town
again?" Lauren pleaded, suddenly feeling proprietary. She wanted to
forgo the event and have Ed all to herself, as in the early days of
their relationship. For an instant she fondly thought of the times
he declared that he never wanted to share her with anyone. She was
the one feeling that way now.
Ed jerked his head away from Lauren's shoulder and responded in a
sharp tone, "You know we can't do that. Get dressed, and let's go."
Looking up at Ed, so handsome in his tailor-made tuxedo, Lauren felt
a twinge of sadness. Their quality time and carefree living were
becoming obsolete. With a touch of melancholy, she couldn't help
thinking of what had propelled her into love with him in the first
place. Fresh out of Wharton business school and excited about her
blossoming career, Lauren had reconnected with Ed when she landed a
job as a marketing executive at Thomas Industries. She had been a
great student, was highly sought after by many companies, and was
thrilled to be offered the position at Ed's company. She had
followed his career for many years since first meeting him years
before on Martha's Vineyard, at her parents' barbecue, when she was
just a high school student. He was a self-made man, and most of
America was fascinated by him, especially black America.
Ed's business had started as a small bottling company with a
contract from a big soda company in the Midwest. Ed and one other
investor then bought a small midwestern beverage company, which they
quickly sold to a larger conglomerate, resulting in substantial
gains. With the money Ed made on that deal, he bought a regional
consumer-products company that specialized in the snack market. With
hard work and a talented marketing team, he turned this venture into
a nationally recognized brand that began giving Frito-Lay big
competition. PepsiCo eventually bought that company. Ed's largest
deal came with a leveraged buyout of another beverage company that
manufactured and marketed flavored iced tea.
At the time, Wall Street analysts had predicted that this company
was near bankruptcy, and that Ed's purchase would surely be the
death of his success. After only one year, Ed turned the company
around with new management and marketing, brought it back to
profitability, and made his iced tea one of the most recognized
worldwide. The next year he sold that beverage company for a billion
dollars, the largest sale for a company of its kind and the biggest
deal any black man had pulled off. He was on the cover of every
business magazine. Ed Thomas had become a true legend. In twenty
years he had built himself a billion-dollar fortune. Soon afterward,
his first wife divorced him, citing years of neglect and grown
children who didn't need their parents to stay together. At fifty,
Ed found himself very rich and very eligible. And Lauren, who worked
in his marketing department, had wanted nothing to do with him
personally.
However, Ed pursued the elegant and beautiful Lauren until he wore
down her resistance. Her caution was fueled by her fear of Ed using
her for the moment and then casting her out of his life, and out of
his office, when he had grown tired of her. Lauren was serious if
not passionate about her career. She hoped to move to the top of her
field and to own her own company eventually. But the more she held
back, the more Ed poured on his affections. She declined, explaining
her desire for him to continue taking her seriously at Thomas
Industries. She thought he had gotten the message. But a few months
later, a corporate retreat was planned in Geneva, Switzerland, for
the marketing department, along with high-ranking executives. It was
during those five days that Ed made himself irresistible to her.
Later he would explain that he had devised the entire trip to get
Lauren's attention. On the first night after dinner, unbeknownst to
her, Ed had the hotel change the lock on Lauren's room so that her
key card would not work and she would have to go to the front desk
to get another. He waited for her in the lobby and convinced her to
have a drink with him in the cozy lounge. They settled themselves in
front of the roaring fire, nestled among oversize goose-down
pillows. The whole experience felt surreal to Lauren. She and Ed
shared stories of their upbringings. Lauren, hailing from
Westchester, was a fourth-generation college graduate. Ed, from
Durham, North Carolina, was the first in his family to go to
college. Lauren respected Ed's ability to pull himself up by the
bootstraps and become one of the country's leading businessmen. He
was fascinated by her privileged upbringing and her ability to
remain so unaffected by it all. They hailed from two distinct
worlds, yet they were here together, yearning to learn more about
each other--each wondering where this night might lead. Finally,
after several hours of talking and comfortable silences, Lauren
floated back to her room alone and intrigued; this time with a key
that worked.
The next day Ed sought to impress her on the slopes, keeping an eye
out for her at all times on the hills. That night he had the hotel
call Lauren to say that the plans had changed and that dinner was to
be served in the hotel's private dining room instead of at the
restaurant, as specified on the company-wide agenda.
When Lauren arrived at the dining room, she saw an ornate table set
for two with candlelight and sprays of baby roses everywhere. The
view was of the Alps they had skied earlier in the day. Ed
immediately apologized for tricking her and begged her not to be
angry with him. "I understand if you don't ever want to have dinner
with me again, but please give me the pleasure of your company in
this beautiful setting tonight so I will at least have the memory of
how your eyes glow in the light." Although they kept their
relationship a secret for several months, Lauren and Ed became
inseparable from that night on.
He continued to hold her interest tenaciously for the next year. He
took her around the world in his private jet. He sent flowers. He
sent handwritten poetry. He introduced her to Portuguese jazz and
Senegalese rhythm. He dazzled her with rare wines, fine art, and
culture. At the end of that wild year, they married.
Ed interrupted her reverie with a brusque "Your hair is perfect. Put
on your dress, and let's get out of here."
After stepping into her size-four black jersey gown that fit her
like a glove, Lauren opened the safe in her walk-in closet, large
enough to be a master bedroom in most mansions. She pulled out a
ruby and diamond bracelet and matching earrings that Ed had given
her one Valentine's Day. Putting the earrings through her lobes,
Lauren couldn't help but think that perhaps all of those folks who
thought she was in over her head were right. Being married to a
billionaire had taken getting used to. She knew most people would
say, "Let me try dealing with the problems of being wealthy." But
she understood all too well that while having money was wonderful,
not having control of her own life was unsettling. She didn't know
exactly, but she figured the earrings and bracelet had to be worth
half a million dollars. And that was just the beginning of what she
didn't know.
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