Authors: Love Belvin
“And?” I didn’t have time for the circular babble.
“And there’s a way to get what you want.”
“Okay…”
“You need investors…capital investors. I can help you find them…or be the sole one.” His one brow peaked.
I scoffed, “Oh, most definitely not. You want into my panties, Moreau. You’re the last person I’d accept capital from. Your motives…or morals aren’t well vested. But you do have my attention on assisting to find them.”
He shrugged again. “With what you shared, you’re starting small, modest product output. You don’t need much funding. I have a few friends who still engage in small investments.”
“You have my ear,” I inclined, not caring that I was now exposing my keen interest, desperation.
He grinned his sly grin. “That, my dear Elizabeth, will take the investment of your time. I don’t have it right now as I’m awaiting my associate. How about discussing it over dinner?”
And there it was. The offer I couldn’t refuse. I wanted to start my business. The possibility was so palpable, I could taste it. Jacques must have smelled it because the next thing I knew, he drew closer to me. So close…he touched me…intimately.
“You think too hard. It’s just dinner.” The smooth pad of his thumb softly swiped the lining of my bottom lip. I didn’t flinch. “We will talk business first, and then we will explore the possibility of being more than associates. Perhaps…friends of the type where I get to replace my thumb with my tongue. Hmmm?” he growled.
My breath caught, but my eyes remained soft. Oh, Jacques definitely had my attention. We stayed that way for a few seconds before he presented his business card. Slowly, but without hesitance, I took it.
“Good night, Moreau,” I bade quietly before exiting his car.
~~~~~~~~~~
The apartment was quiet, not that I was expecting anything else. It was well past Jordan’s bedtime and Eligia always went down right after him. I smelled dinner, and quickly decided against it since I’d eaten already. My buds were calling for a different type of food, one of the sweet variety. Nonetheless, first I had to get out of these clothes.
When I walked into my bedroom I dropped my things and went over to the nightstand to turn on the baby monitor. I struggled with not going directly in there to scoop Jordan up and bring him to bed with me. Actually, I would have if I knew I would be going straight to sleep, but I wasn’t because I was too restless, thinking about this business plan.
When I saw that he was curled in his crib, softly snoring from his little cold, I stripped and headed into the shower. Once that task was over, I went back out to the kitchen agog with anticipation of frozen cream hitting my palate. As I grabbed the cold container, I sighed dramatically. Then I ambled into the pantry for the small wine refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of sauvignon blanc and poured a generous glass. Trotting on my bare tippy toes I made my way out into the living room excited about my impending feast.
I dumped my exhausted limbs on the oversized plush sofa, tucked my crossed legs beneath me and started digging in my pistachio ice cream. As I sucked and chewed, my brain moiled with what the class discussed...and with Jacques Moreau. I could actually do this. I could start my own business—albeit small, but it would be a start nonetheless. If I were able to pull this off, the trajectory of my life would change. I believed enough in myself to know that if I got the financial backing, it could work. I just needed to figure out who would invest.
If I went with Moreau’s recommendation, I’d be making bold moves and unprecedented requests. I’d be like him—daring, aggressive, and self-assertive—
My god, the way he touched my lip!
I didn’t like the audacious move. I didn’t know him and was not accustomed to that type of school-related interaction. Though now in the privacy of my own home, I have to admit how desirable that single maneuver made me feel.
I took a huge gulp of my wine, feeling the need to balance my rising hormones with a contradicting sensation. I savored the singe from the wine surging my throat. Conversely, it did nothing for the tingle in my nipples or the throbbing of my clitoris. It was that time of the month and since that time, years ago, when Stenton made love to me while I was on my period, my body craved sex during this time of my cycle. I found myself brushing my fingers over my bottom lip with featherweight strokes, curious about what Moreau felt when he touched it. Then my thoughts went to Stenton—my sole lover—and whether he’d ever executed that clever act of seduction with another woman.
“Long day?” those vocals never failed to stimulate a physiological response as they pour over me.
I leaped in place to find Stenton leaning against the wall, his lanky frame encased in a silver tracksuit and black sneakers. He appeared fit and solid…and a bit exhausted. My thoughts must be powerful. I’d thought him up.
“I didn’t know you were here.”
“I didn’t know I was still here either until my own snore woke me up.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “I didn’t know you snored.”
Stenton shrugged. “Occasionally, when I’m burned out.” He yawned.
“Rough week?”
“You don’t know the half,” he snorted. There was a pause before he asked, “Rough night?”
“Huhn?”
His eyes gestured my way. “I see you broke open a bottle of wine.”
I glanced down at the glass in my hand. “Oh! Not really.” I raised the jar of ice cream.
“Ooooooh.”
I giggled. “Yup. That time of the month.” I took another sip of wine.
“Oh, well, at least I know Kaleemah isn’t enrolled in Wharton and bullying you to the point of drinking.”
I couldn’t help my laughter. “You’re whack for that. You really remember my silly stories?”
Stenton’s face was sober when he replied, “Every last one of them.”
I scoffed. “I can’t believe I told you that.”
“Yeah, well…” Stenton brushed the back of his head. “…we’ve shared a lot of embarrassing stories and moments over the years.”
“That is true.” I muttered. “That is very true.”
There was a tentative pause.
“Well, I’m tired as hell. I’mma get outta here. I have another long day tomorrow.”
“You know… You can always stay here. There is room for you.”
Geeze!
Why did I say that? He may have thought my intent was not pure.
My intent isn’t pure with what my body is calling for now!
If Stent was to try that tactic he’d have me all over him within the blink of an eye. I can’t go back there.
He belongs to someone else.
I had to get over this hurdle alone.
“Nah. I think I should go. If I fall asleep anywhere besides an over-sized king I’ll be cramped and no good for work.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
Or on your back, rammed into me.
‘“‘Night, Zo,” he bade.
It was best for him to leave now. My body yearned for something that was no good for my pining for the return of my heart from Stenton.
More soberly than I was feeling, I responded. “Goodnight, Stent. Thanks for stopping in before leaving.”
Then I recognized that age-old look of adoration in his eyes for me. Yet I understood why it wasn’t accompanied by its usual action. Stenton had another lover. As I watched him saunter out of the living room, I realized our intimate life had expired.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, scanning my body from head to toe as if he was entirely unimpressed.
“I don’t believe I stuttered. Do you need it in another language? I can try Chinese…perhaps French,” I returned, desperate to not let him see the silent quivering of my frame as I stood in front of his massive dark oak desk that was just as grand and intimidating as the rest of the motif in his New York City office—heck, his building.
“Elizabeth, I’d prefer your attempt at coercion in English; this way I can better regurgitate it in a court of law.”
He wouldn’t move, remained steeled in that very position. I’d practiced this, my argument and poker face all night. I wouldn’t leave here until he gave me what I wanted. What I needed.
Suddenly he sat up, apparently struck with a thought. “My god,” he murmured. “You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question. He exhaled. “Now, I know you’re an extremely bright woman, your accomplishments speak to that. What I don’t understand is why you wouldn’t think of something less involved…less things to do like shop or start a blog, claiming to be a fashion designer, using Stenton’s celebrity to capture clientele. No. That would be beneath you…too menial for someone of your aptitude. You, the interminable intellectual, Ms. Barrett, have to go for the big fish.”
“I could take
Bravo
network up on their reality show offer and spill all the beans about Stenton’s personal business…what should be kept in-house.” I leaned over his desk, inching closer to his person. “But I’d much rather keep with how we’re a family…an organization and keep things neat in
our
camp.” I threw right back at him the words he shot at me when I sat in the `conference room of his office, bleeding at the heart from his twisting the knife in my empty chest, thanks to his client, Stenton Rogers.
I wondered how Edward Chesney felt about that reference. I knew he caught it. I could tell by the way his eyes strained, then suddenly relaxed at the recognition. I could also hear the cogs of his mind spinning at the seriousness of my request. And I was serious. I’d put on a professional two-piece suit with modest heels and carried a briefcase. I was to be taken seriously by one Edward Chesney. I was desperate to.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered, clearly jarred.
“I’d prefer to be the daughter of one, but I’ll take whichever works for you, so long as you take my requests seriously.” I cocked my head to the side.
“What exactly are you asking for?”
“Again, I need venture capitalists, willing to make small and low risk investments in my company. They will be undetectable loans so that they won’t even be captured on their portfolios. I know you can help me with this. I have an idea of the caliber of your
family
.”
I threw the term he used with my family and me when I’d first met him. I still had a bitter taste in my mouth from that orientation to Chesney’s firm.
“I see,” he thrummed his chin. “And why can’t you just ask Stenton? I have reason to believe he’d be willing and just as generous as he’s been with your—and I quote—parenting partner support;
whatever the hell that means
.” And there was that infamous inflection of his voice as he rolled his eyes femininely.
“That’s because I don’t want my business to be affiliated with Stenton. My life does not revolve around him. I would have done this with or without having his child, Eddie,” I taunted.
“Contrary to your “I’m Every Woman” mission, if what you’re asking for were to come to fruition, it would be solely Stenton’s name being attached to your proposal that would get you through the door of an investor.”
He was right. That pitch had been built into the proposal I’d brought with me today. Because of this, I had more fight in me.
“The same could be said for why
Bravo
is awaiting my final answer today at three o’clock, Eddie.” I hiked my brow. “So what’s it going to be? You gonna help me find the pennies I need to kick off my career, independent of your client? Or do I have to find other means that could possibly harm your
family
? Either way, this young girl from New Brunswick is going to eat, and just being a baby’s momma ain’t on my menu.”
Chesney and I did an intense stare down for what felt like close to an hour. I struggled, trembled, perspired, and tried to hide my deep unnerving swallows.
I felt like I couldn’t hold out any longer when he gritted, “Fine! I’ll help you find cash. But someone will have to pay for my time. It will be taking from top-billing, paying clients, Elizabeth.”
I understood his need for leverage. I was expecting that, too.
“You can do one of two things: Bill it to StentRo, who’s already paying you to babysit me, hands on, or come down on your king’s ransom fees and charge me something a grad student could afford.”
“Which is?” he yelped.
I shrugged. “You know how much I bring in. Find the amounts in my file and crunch the numbers.”
“The hell…” Chesney whined when I tossed my superb proposal on his desk.
I turned to leave. “All the information you need is in there. I expect to hear from you in two business days, which will be my extension for Bravo on my three o’clock call today. Make momma proud, Eddie.”
When I glanced over my shoulder at him, for the first time, I witnessed Chesney rendered speechless by being treated as the service provider and not the shot-caller he behaves as toward his clients.
Go, Zoey—
No.
Go, Elizabeth! I patted myself on the back all the way back to Philadelphia.
~~~~~~~~~~
February 2010
“So why don’t you just let him sing second lead? It sounds like a win-win situation to me.”