Roy Glenn - The cost of vengeance

Just then, the door flew opened and Jenna rushed in. “Jada, oh my God, Jada,” she said and came to where I was sitting. It was obvious that she had been crying.

“Okay, Jenna. Calm down and tell me what’s wrong?”

Jenna sat down on the couch next to me and my first thought was that Oleg Mushnikov was back, or one of his goons had attacked her. I looked at her face and the gown she was wearing, and both still looked as good as they did when she walked out four hours ago-except for the tears.

“He’s dead,” Jenna said.

“Who’s dead?”

“The client,” Jenna said trying to pull herself together.

“The client?” I shouted. “Patrick?” Patrick Owens was one of my better clients. He was a closeted gay man who worked at a company that frowned that on type of lifestyle. So to keep his cover, anytime his company had a function, Patrick would hire one of my ladies to attend the function with him. No sex involved; just to be seen with him. Since it would be an easy night this evening, I sent Jenna.

The event was to be held in the Starlight Roof at the Waldorf Astoria. This legendary Art Deco landmark occupies an entire city block on fashionable Park Avenue. The venue features floor-to-ceiling windows presenting sweeping views of New York City and Park Avenue, eighteen stories below. I selected an Yves Saint Laurent draped silk satin dress that wraps and ties in a soft bow at the waist, with a crossover V neckline, cap sleeves, wide ties at waist, and a draped contour hem; Yves Saint Laurent tribute patent leather platform sandals with buckled T-strap, and an Alexander McQueen whipsnake design with a Swarovski-embellished leather glove clutch for her to wear. Patrick was her first client and now she was sitting there telling me that he was dead.

“Okay, Jenna, start at the beginning and tell me everything that happened.”

“The event was at the Waldorf,” Jenna said excitedly.

“I know that, Jenna, I sent you. What happened?”

“He had an Astor suite there. When the event was over, he didn’t want me to leave right away because of how it would look. So he asked me to come up to the room and stay with him for about an hour.”

“Sensible.”

“I know. It was good thing that we did because just as we got to the room, one of the people that he works with and his wife got off the elevator. He grabbed me and pretended to kiss me until they went in their room.”

“Smart move on his part,” I said and hoped she would get to the part about him being dead soon, though I did ask her to start at the beginning.

“As soon as we got in the room, he went in the bathroom and shut the door. I sat down and watched TV. After about an hour I was getting ready to leave, so I knocked on the door. When he didn’t answer I opened the door. He was sitting on the toilet with his belt around his arm and a needle stuck in his arm. I think he OD’d.”

“Are you sure he was dead?”

“I shook him a few times and he didn’t move,” Jenna said.

“He may or may not be dead; he might have just been in a real heavy nod.”

“I didn’t check for a pulse, I just got outta there.”

“It’s okay, Jenna. Whether he’s dead or not, in either case, it will be all right. If he’s dead, tomorrow morning housekeeping will find him and that will be that. You didn’t take any pictures with him, did you?”

“No, not that I know of; but I left there so fast, I left my clutch bag in the room.”

“That’s not good,” I said and immediately found his cell number and tried to reach him. We needed to get that clutch because, other than the obvious reason, the clutch cost me $1,920.00. “He’s not answering.”

Jenna dropped her head. “Oh.”

“What?”

She reached in her cleavage and pulled out the room key. “After the people went in the room, he was just standing there, so I took the key from him and opened the door.”

I laughed. “And that’s where you put it?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah.”

“I guess we’re going to the Waldorf,” I said. And after a quick change of clothes: Dolce amp; Gabbana stretch wool suit with a notched collar, peak lapels, three flap pockets, and one slash pocket; Dolce amp; Gabbana suede covered pumps with a 5-inch heel, and a hidden 1-inch platform, we were on our way.

On the way there, I thought about drugs and Tangela House came to mind. After I saw Congressman Cantifield at Martin Marshall’s party, his assistant called me and I made arrangements to meet the congressman for lunch. Over lobster thermador and cocktails, I assured the congressman that I would be able to service all of his needs, and provide him with those services with the utmost discretion. The congressman agreed and we shook hands on our exclusive arrangement.

Then he started going on and on about how beautiful and charming Tangela was at Marshall’s party, and how he simply had to have her. “If she’s as good as she appears, my exclusive arrangement may just be for her, all the time.” Then he laughed. “Well almost all the time.”

Knowing that she had issues, I tried to convince him that she wasn’t quite the one, but he insisted. So against my better judgment and after a very long lecture: a warning not to blow it, I sent Tangela out on an appointment with my most important client. Thank goodness everything worked out fine that evening. But she was late for her next appointment and missed the one after that altogether.

When she finally resurfaced the next day, I met her for dinner at Bellavitae: an Italian restaurant on Minetta Lane, between 6 thAvenue and MacDougal Street. Over dinner, which, by the way, she merely picked at, Tangela explained why she had missed her appointment the night before.

“I can’t use you, Tangela, if I can’t depend on you,” I told her when she finished her fantastic story.

“I’m sorry, Jada. It won’t happen again,” Tangela promised and I signaled for the waiter.

“Check, please.” Once I paid the check I stood up. “I know it won’t happen again,” I said and walked out of Bellavitae. I heard that she hooked back up with Creme, and she got her a job dancing at whatever club she was working at.

It was after one in the morning when our cab arrived at the Waldorf. We took the elevator up the Patrick’s suite and approached the room. I took the key from Jenna and opened the door. She rushed in the room and grabbed the clutch, which was still on the coffee table. Jenna was on her way back to the door, but I had to have a look in the bathroom before I left. I opened the door slowly and peeked in. “Oh, excuse me,” I said and quickly closed the door. “Let’s go, Jenna.”

“Is he still there?”

“Oh, he’s in there. But he is far from dead,” I said as I walked toward the door, feeling a little a bit embarrassed about walking in on Patrick and his friend.

As I paid the driver and got out of the cab in front of my building, I took a minute to think about the fact that Mr. Black hadn’t returned my call. And even if he had, I would once again have to place him on the back burner to take care of business. As Jenna and I walked toward the elevator, I wondered if Mr. Black had even gotten my message. Was he in the arms of another woman?

Jealousy?

Get a grip on yourself, Jada.

Nina Thomas

Leon went back to Jacksonville and I lied and told him that I was right behind him. I had packed up all of the stuff that I was going to take with me, and was going to have it shipped to Leon’s house. At first, my excuse was that I still had five keys that I needed to sell before I left. It wasn’t like I needed the money; I had over a quarter of a million dollars saved; I was just being a greedy bitch. Leon ended that when he said that he would buy them back for what I paid. Then my excuse became that I had to spend some time with my girls before I left.