Pride, p.10
Pride, page 10
And then, I gave Norma something else she’d given to me—silence. For all that time, I’d never heard her voice or seen her face. It was as if she had died—or, as I used to think, it was as if she wanted me to be dead.
Windsor knew all of this, which was why I never understood her unrelenting quest to forge a reconciliation between Norma and me. Would my sister ever come to truly realize that I had no desire to bridge the divide that Norma had created between us? Would she come to understand that my “never” was real and meant to last an eternity?
With a sigh, I released all those memories and turned my attention to the call I had to make. Dr. Patterson wasn’t in her office, but I left a detailed message with her service, then tapped on my sister’s contact to call her back. Just as I did that, though, my phone vibrated in my hand. A new text:
Your present cannot fix your past. Vengeance is mine.
9
I yawned, leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes. Maybe if I had just five minutes of rest, which would be far more than I had last night, I’d find the gusto to face this day. But between Norma finally being released from the hospital under strict medical instructions and her doctor’s care and that last text, my mind hadn’t allowed me to rest.
Your present cannot fix your past. Vengeance is mine.
Opening my eyes, I wondered if moving instead of sitting would help. Slowly, I crossed the room, then paused in front of my window. Today, I hardly noticed the view of the Houston skyline miles away. My mind was on the text and the only conclusion I could draw after reading it dozens of times.
If this was about my past and my present, then these texts, these threats, had to be coming from Vivian. She was the only person in my life who straddled both of my worlds. She’d introduced me to her uncle, but we’d had an almost fifteen-year friendship before we became competitors at ClearWater.
Before that final falling-out, Vivian and I hadn’t had a single disagreement. That was because even when we met at the age of thirteen, we both understood the power dynamics between us—Vivian was part of the haves, and I was completely a have-not. Standing next to me, Vivian was superior in every way: fresh hair, cute clothes, her mom took her to the nail shop for regular mani-pedis, and her dad made sure she had a flip phone, her own computer, and a television and a VCR in her bedroom.
The sweet woman who raised me, Mrs. Hunter, did the best she could, but she couldn’t compete with that. Mrs. Hunter was already in her late forties when she welcomed me into her home. An unmarried woman who’d never had children, she’d been thrilled when Pastor Franklin had put out a call to his congregation for help right after my sister was born. Mrs. Hunter had been the first one to step up, reassuring my mother that if she ever needed assistance, she was prepared to take one or both of her girls until my mother could get herself together.
From the moment I entered her home, even as a despondent child, Mrs. Hunter treated me as if I was a blessing. But there was no way she could or wanted to compete with Vivian’s parents. I was always clean and fed… and except for the longing I had for my mother, I had the stability I hadn’t had since my dad passed away. My bedroom wasn’t furnished with designer pieces, but it was certainly functional, with a double bed and a thirteen-inch TV. The greatest extravagance Mrs. Hunter could afford was the three or four new outfits she bought for me at the beginning of every school year.
Things between Vivian and me evened out a little when I attended UT on scholarship and received $75,000 from an insurance policy when Mrs. Hunter passed away the summer before I entered college. But it wasn’t until I joined Vivian at ClearWater that I became her equal and then, after several months, surpassed her in gaining clients, income, and, finally, her uncle’s attention.
“Uh, what are these?” My assistant’s voice floated over my shoulder.
Facing her, I tilted my head in surprise at the bundle of yellow roses she held, which was so huge, her face was hidden.
“Oh my.” I moved toward her, grabbed the vase, then placed them on the corner of my desk.
She stood back, pressed one hand into her tiny size 4 hip, and then demanded with the authority of someone three times her size, “ ‘Oh my’ is not an appropriate answer. So I’ll ask again… Boss, what are these?”
I laughed; it had been hours since I’d laughed like that with Quincy. “They look like flowers.” I inhaled their fragrance, then read the attached card: Yellow roses represent joy, but there aren’t enough yellow roses in the world to represent all the joy you gave to me yesterday. Thank you for the best Labor Day.
It felt like so much had happened between our last call and this moment. But the memory of him and his words came back to me. Again, I was sure that this was not the man, these were just his moves. But how could I not love this?
“Journee!”
Now I laughed as I faced Tasha. “What?”
Tasha stood with her arms folded. “You get a gazillion roses, read the card, float away into the ether, and you think I’m just gonna stand here? Come on, ’fess up, Fester.”
“I hardly floated into the ether,” I said with a chuckle.
But there was no humor in Tasha’s tone as she continued, “It looked that way to me. So who sent these?”
Her persistence only matched mine. So I said, “A friend.”
“What friend?”
“A new friend.”
“How long have you known said friend?”
“Uh, Tasha,” I began, feigning annoyance, although I wasn’t irritated at all. Over these few years, Tasha and I had become close enough to be concerned about each other’s welfare. Still, I asked, “What’s up with the twenty questions?”
She shrugged and settled into the chair across from me. “I’ve never seen you smiling the way you smiled when you read the card that came with those flowers.”
I glanced at the bouquet once again, and was pleased with Quincy’s timing. He’d given me quite a reprieve. “I met a guy yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” She turned up her nose as if she didn’t approve.
I nodded. “Yeah. At the gym. We had a great chat that continued through a wonderful brunch, and we had a really good conversation afterward.”
She nodded, and her tone softened when she continued, “Do you like him?”
I shrugged. “He seems like a nice guy, but you know how I am.”
“So hard to please.”
Exactly! But what Tasha didn’t know was “hard to please” was another way of saying he wasn’t Ethan. And in this case, it was true. Quincy wasn’t Ethan… Quincy was a better version.
“Well, I hope it works out.”
“It was a single date; there’s nothing to work out.”
“He sent flowers,” she said, now sounding hopeful for me.
The only comeback I had was “He sent flowers and changed my tire at the gym. Speaking of that, can you call the dealer, tell them I need a new tire and installation? And have them send someone; I won’t have time today to take it in myself.”
“I’ll call them right now.” She moved toward the door, then paused. “Do you think we’ll hear from Mr. Yung this week?” The smile on her face belied the anxiety in her eyes.
I smiled to reassure her. “When I had dinner with him on Thursday, he gave me the impression they would make the announcement this week. Don’t worry; we got this.”
“You really think so?”
“I’m as close to sure as I can be. So…” I held up crossed fingers.
In return, Tasha pressed her hands together, then bowed her head as if she was in prayer, and quickly, I did the same. What was I thinking, holding up my fingers like that? I wasn’t lucky. God had blessed me. The life I had now was His promise fulfilled. His answer to all my childhood cries.
Clearly, though, I wasn’t the only one who would be blessed with the WestPark revitalization contract. Once I won this bid, Tasha would get that raise she needed. When I’d interviewed her for this job, she had confided that her brother was serving seven years on a drug charge. The only reason she’d left her former employer was because she’d needed to earn more in order to support her brother financially.
Every chance I had, I gave Tasha a little bonus: when the team exceeded sales objectives, when Tasha beat a deadline—it didn’t matter what: if I could help, I did. But what I’d be able to give her with this contract would take a lot of pressure off her. No worries, I thought. It was coming.
And because it was coming, I had to get back to work. There would be time to think about Vivian and figure out what she was doing—after I took care of my business. As I reached for the top file on the stack piled on my desk, the sweet smell of the roses tickled my nostrils. I paused and took another moment to inhale. Even with all that was going on in my life, I didn’t want to let this moment pass and not appreciate how special Quincy’s gesture was.
Setting aside my work, I picked up my cell:
The flowers, my goodness, Q. They’re beautiful! I texted.
Quincy wouldn’t see my message for a couple of hours, since at this moment he was probably standing in the middle of his fifth-grade class, explaining that an evangelist wasn’t someone who played an evangelo. I chuckled now, remembering the story he’d told me yesterday. But before I could even put my phone down, it vibrated:
No flowers are as beautiful as you. Thank you for making my Labor Day weekend so complete.
I was surprised to hear from him so quickly, though I was more focused on his text than his timing. This dude. But as much as I wanted to wallow in Quincy’s words and sit back and smell these roses, I returned my focus to the file in front of me.
And then… Tasha busted into my office.
“Oh my God, Journee. I can’t believe this.” She rushed to my desk. Her voice shook as she added, “Look!” She shoved a newspaper in front of my face. An article was circled with a black marker.
The headline screamed: Major City Contract Awarded. And then the subhead: Quality Mortgage to Provide Funding.
“What?” I snatched the newspaper from her; the entire time, my gaze was stuck on the headline. Finally, I turned to Tasha. This had to be some kind of joke. But Tasha’s expression—her eyes still wide with shock—let me know there was nothing funny about this. “Quality Mortgage? That’s Vivian’s company,” I whispered in disbelief.
Tasha nodded. “I can’t believe this.”
I glanced back at the article, still not able to read beyond the headline. This was impossible. My eyes narrowed as I remembered Mr. Yung’s final words to me:
“Ms. Alexander”—he shook my hand—“I am truly looking forward to working with you. You’ll be hearing from us very soon.”
So how had we gone from that to this? And this decision had to have been made not too long after our dinner for this to appear in this morning’s newspaper.
Tasha plopped down in the chair. “What went wrong?” When I faced her, she straightened up and did her best to blink away her disappointment. Of course, we both knew we wouldn’t win every contract; we’d won a lot but also lost quite a few. This was different—because of the promises Mr. Yung seemed to have made and because of the greater financial impact this would have had on my company, and thereby everyone who worked for me.
Tasha said, “I’m so sorry, Journee. Do you think there’s anything we can do?”
I shook my head, my eyes still on the article. After a few seconds, I felt Tasha stand and move out of the office, closing the door behind her. Now I forced myself to read the first paragraph: Vivian Wallace, the owner of Quality Mortgage, has won the coveted WestPark revitalization bid, which will have her overseeing the funding of a multimillion-dollar, five-year contract to establish low-income housing along Houston’s WestPark corridor.
Pausing, I tried to recall every single conversation I’d had over the past months. Every city official had led me to believe that not only was I in the running, but I was at the top. And then there was Mr. Yung, the city director, and his assurances. Something wasn’t right… and what was wrong was Vivian. But how had my ex–best friend bested me? Did this have anything to do with the texts she’d been sending?
I forced myself to read the entire article. There were no clues inside the three-paragraph announcement. Most of it was about how the city was pleased to be working with its first Black female contractor at this high level and how impressive Vivian Wallace and her company were.
Setting the paper aside, I held my head in my hands. There was really only one thing for me to do if I wanted to understand what had happened. I had to make this call or I wouldn’t sleep for weeks. It still took me a couple of seconds to pick up the phone, scroll through my contacts, and then inhale before I tapped on the number.
I had been a yoga enthusiast for years, and so I breathed, balancing my body and my mind. Inhaling, then exhaling, then…
“Mr. Yung’s office, how may I help you?”
“Yes, uh… hello,” I stammered. “This is Journee Alexander. May I speak with Mr. Yung, please?”
“Let me see if Mr. Yung is available.”
As soon as she put me on hold, I knew this was a bad idea. He wasn’t going to take my call; this was unprofessional. To Mr. Yung, this was just business, and I needed to disconnect this call so that I’d be considered for any future opportunity.
But before I could press END, I heard, “Ms. Alexander.”
I froze in shock, then stammered, “Uh, yes, Mr. Yung. Thank you for taking my call.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” he said, his tone stiff with his professionalism. “I thought I might hear from you.”
Another shocker. So he knew I’d call because there was something wrong with this decision. I said, “Well, I do know calling you is a bit unorthodox, but, Mr. Yung, I read the announcement in this morning’s newspaper, and I was more than surprised, especially after our last conversation on Thursday.”
“I never said you had the contract.”
“No,” I quickly agreed. “No, you didn’t, but…”
“I think, in fact, I said the final decision had not been made.”
“You did say that. But I’m calling because I thought I was one of the top contenders and was looking forward to working with you. So I’m hoping you can give me some insight into what happened… so the next time I can put myself in the best position for a win.” I paused, and when he was silent, I added, “I just want to know what happened.”
He had to hear my frustration mixed with my confusion and disappointment. He said, “May I be frank with you, Ms. Alexander?”
“Yes.” I scooted to the edge of my seat as if that would help me hear—or understand—better. “Of course. Please.”
“J. Alexander and Associates was our first choice, but things changed.” I held my breath. “As you know, we had to take our final recommendation to the mayor’s office, and on Friday your application was immediately rejected.”
“But why?” In the split second that passed between my question and Mr. Yung’s answer, I tried to imagine what Vivian could have done with the mayor’s office—bribe them?
Mr. Yung said, “There is a concern that you’re under a federal investigation.”
Was that a statement or a question? Either way, those words were a sledgehammer to my gut. Breathe, breathe. “Investigation? I’m… I’m not aware… of any investigation.”
“I’m not at liberty to say any more than that. But I’m very sorry, Ms. Alexander, the decision is final. Truly, I wish you the best.”
I didn’t have enough breath in me to thank him and say good-bye, too. I just ended the call because it would have been unprofessional to sob in that man’s ear. You’re under a federal investigation… investigation… investigation.
That word reverberated in my mind like a boomerang app.
“Oh my God.” I sat frozen in disbelief. How could the pendulum have swung so far in the past thirty minutes? With all that was going on, the one thing I’d been confident of this morning was that I was about to add a couple of million dollars to my company’s bottom line. But all of that money had vanished—poof!—in the time it took me to read a newspaper headline. And now I didn’t even care about losing that contract, because being investigated by the feds was bigger than anything else that could happen in my life.
Even though I’d gone to Ethan, I didn’t really believe this was going to happen. My purpose in meeting with him was to get his help: I needed to know who was sending the text messages, find out if and how I was being connected to Simon, and then get reassurance from Ethan that if somehow I was being coupled with Simon, he would be able to untether me.
Now, not only was I being investigated, but I knew who was setting me up. The texts, losing the contract, the investigation—this was all Vivian. But why? Was this about her being fired from Simon’s company six years ago?
And how? What could she have said to the mayor? She couldn’t have used the homeless scheme to wipe me out as her competition, since that scheme had been her idea. And she wasn’t aware of the one scheme that I feared could really be my undoing. I didn’t know if Simon and Vivian had ever reconciled, but I did know that he wouldn’t have shared with her what we’d done. Simon and I were the only ones who knew about that.
So what had Vivian told the mayor’s office, or… had she talked to the feds? And now that she’d given me up, how far was this going to go?
I wasn’t going to live in a world of so many unanswered questions. Vivian wasn’t the only one who could fight, and she wasn’t the only one who could outmaneuver the competition.
Grabbing my cell once again, I scrolled through my favorites and pressed Ethan’s number. When he answered, I greeted him with “Ethan, thank God you’re back.”
“I’m not. I’m about five minutes away.”
“Great, you’re not going to believe what happened. I don’t know if you want to talk now or if you want me to wait until you get in your office.”
“Well, Journee, I’m not sure I want to talk to you at all.” His tone was filled with annoyance.
