Gotham Diaries Read online

  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 on the market for them to see. The sticker-shock virus had just begun, and so had Manny’s headaches.

  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’ multimedia 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 s
upposed 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, Roxy 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.

  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 tonig
ht 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.