Gotham Diaries Read online

  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.

  She had no idea where all of her husband’s billion dollars were invested. It could be in money markets, the stock market, bonds, Treasury notes. And she never saw a bill. Every month accountants paid their bills, though Ed signed the checks. Lauren could also sign a check but never needed to. She had her own bank account, with a huge monthly allowance, more money than she could ever spend. What she didn’t spend she put in her own savings account or money markets. She also had a reserve, two million dollars in the trust her parents had set up for her. But the big money and whatever property Ed might own all over the world, she had no way of knowing about. And if she wanted to find out, she would have to go through so many accountants and assistants and extraneous people that it was too daunting even to try.

  In order to gain control of something in her life, Lauren had decided to go back to work. Ed had made her leave Thomas Industries once they were married. His other employees wouldn’t think it fair, he had explained. She had always been creative, directing undergraduate theater, and wanted to make films and television shows. Her parents had steered her to business school so she would be able to support herself. They’d urged her to never depend on the trust fund. After her marriage and with Ed’s initial support, she had decided to pursue her dream career as a documentary filmmaker, which allowed her to delve into underrepresented issues and to fulfill her creative spirit.

  Passing through the hallways of her grand apartment, with the museum-quality art on the walls, only made Lauren more cognizant of her lack of power over her own life. There was so much pressure to be socially involved in the New York philanthropic world, though she really was not interested in everyone else’s agenda. Lauren craved a simpler lifestyle. Sometimes she fantasized about running away with Ed, back to that quiet retreat in the Alps, and never returning to New York.

  FOUR

  THE flash of the paparazzi’s cameras nearly blinded Manny as he and Tandy sauntered down the red carpet to the Museum of Harlem’s annual gala, held at the Metropolitan Club. Manny lived for such events, especially this one, which was the signature African-American social gathering of the year in New York City. Not only was he getting more attention than he had ever received at any fete in the past, but he was with the queen.

  “Tandy! Tandy! Over here!” an elderly German photographer whom Manny recognized from the Daily News hollered out as they neared the entrance. Manny marveled at Tandy. She was a pro. She pretended to be preoccupied with trying to reach the front door, but Manny knew better. He could tell she was profiling her face to accent her best angles without appearing to be posing for the camera. Not that Tandy had a bad angle. Her features were perfect: high chiseled cheekbones, deep-set almond-shaped brown eyes, caramel skin, jet-black shoulder-length hair softly layered, framing her heart-shaped face. Graceful and elegant in her burgundy one-shoulder vintage Valentino gown, Tandy glided through the crowd.

  Even though she was regularly written up in W, Vanity Fair, Town & Country, and The New York Times as a socialite and a model of style, she rarely stopped to pose for pictures, always telling Manny that it was gauche to mill about waiting for some photographer to find you. “Pathetic and desperate,” she would say. Sh
e was photographed only on her terms. So now she continued along on her mission to enter the gathering that she was co-chairing. But damn, Manny wished she would at least agree to a couple of posed photos. He didn’t get many opportunities like this, and he sure wouldn’t mind showing up in any one of the publications she spurned as she sped by the clicking lenses and style-page reporters waving spiral pads, waiting to get quotes. This was the sort of publicity Manny had waited years to get, but he reminded himself not to be too eager or pushy with Tandy. Those were traits she despised. He should be grateful simply to accompany her. Still, he wanted more.

  In the past, Manny had come to the Museum of Harlem event solo. He hadn’t had a prominent table, let alone paparazzi trying to snap shots of him. Attending the gala with Tandy was a coup. Not only would he be ensured a highly visible seat, but her acceptance of him would also signify to the African-American bourgeois that he was one of them, or at least firmly on his way. True, he and Lauren were closer friends—she had welcomed him into her inner sanctum—but she was not a member of the old guard, like Tandy. She was also still working her way out of the stigma attached to being Ed Thomas’s younger second wife. And the fact that Ed’s first wife was so well regarded did not help Lauren’s position. Hell, Lauren’s own mother had been an acquaintance of the first Mrs. Thomas. Tandy’s more established stamp of approval of Manny carried greater weight. Manny was reminded of Tandy’s clout by the crowd, craning their necks to see what she was wearing or trying to get a few seconds of her time. Manny had been one of those people on the outside looking in not so long ago. Even though his mother had been excluded by groups such as this one, she had primed him his whole life to be accepted by the elite African-American circles.

  Near the arched stone doorways, the crowd thickened almost to a standstill. Manny wanted to keep moving, to get the evening started. He wanted to take full advantage of this night with Tandy on his arm. He felt like a kid at Magic Kingdom, not knowing whether to ride on Dumbo the Flying Elephant or Space Mountain or to meet Mickey Mouse first. Manny became increasingly hyped as he glanced around at all of the faces he recognized, nodding their heads, anxious to greet Tandy. The barons of black society had turned out for this gathering: Robert Johnson and Debra Lee, the CEO and COO of Black Entertainment Television; Kenneth Chenault, CEO of American Express, and his wife, attorney Kathryn; Richard Parsons, CEO of AOL Time Warner; Earl Graves, publisher of Black Enterprise magazine; Ed Lewis, CEO of Essence Communications; and Vernon Jordan—groups Manny was still trying to infiltrate. Soberly, he realized that feat would take more than being Tandy’s date. He needed to operate on their level, not merely service them. He’d been living commission check to commission check, though he wanted to make a mark in their world.

  Right beside the entrance, Manny spotted Lauren and Ed Thomas posing for pictures and being interviewed by Elise McNeil from the New York Journal style section. Tandy seemed to hesitate, but Lauren noticed them and gave a huge grin, motioning for them to join her and Ed. Manny was ready to take part in the photo op, but Tandy waved and kept moving. Not prepared to rock the boat with Tandy, Manny mouthed to Lauren that he would meet her inside. That is, until Lauren gave him and Tandy an SOS look, letting them know she needed them to bail her out. Apparently, the backup on the red carpet had been caused by the slew of reporters and photographers waiting to get photos of Lauren and Ed. After all, Ed was one of only half a handful of African-American billionaires, and his wife hailed from a rather prominent family herself. As the press vultures hovered, Ed wore a proud expression; the flashbulbs continuously went off, and the photographers called out to Lauren: “Mrs. Thomas, over here!” “Lauren, who are you wearing tonight?” “Lauren, when is the Museum of Harlem going to become more accessible to children?” “Mrs. Thomas, is that couture?”

  Obviously, Lauren had not taken lessons from Tandy on the proper way to enter an event. She was letting all of the photographers take pictures, even posing, showing off the simple black strapless Armani Manny had helped her select at the Bryant Park Fashion Show. Lauren was so stunning she needed to wear simple clothes, otherwise her beauty would collide with her wardrobe.

  “Manny!” Tandy began as she glanced around at the crowd rather distastefully. “Are you coming?”

  Manny caught Lauren’s exasperation. She appeared to be pleading with him and Tandy. “I think Lauren needs us to rescue her.”

  “Rescue her? She’s perfectly fine, Manny. Her husband can take care of her,” Tandy remarked with a bit of an edge.

  Manny looked at Lauren longingly once again, feeling a bit like a child whose mother had just forbidden him to go to the playground. But before Manny could respond, the very boisterous Cynthia Westerly, wearing a gown resembling a rainbow-colored parachute, accosted Tandy.

  “My goodness, Tandy, when are you all going to move this gala to a venue that can properly accommodate the guests? This is ridiculous. I’ve been waiting a half hour just to get inside. It’s like a college party.” Cynthia was the sort of woman who believed the money she and her father had made as owners of Cadillac dealerships throughout Stamford, Greenwich, and Westchester gave her the right to say whatever was on her mind. Manny understood why no one had ever married her. But he knew no matter how much someone like Cynthia complained, she wouldn’t miss the Museum of Harlem gala for her own daddy’s funeral. He got the impression she was still hoping to meet the man of her dreams, and what better place than here, where all of the eligible African-American men in the Tri-State area were in attendance?

  As Cynthia sidled up to Tandy, Manny took the momentary reprieve as his opportunity to at least go and say hello to Lauren. He also knew she would drag him into a few pictures.

  “Smile for the camera, darling,” Lauren said. Ed nodded his usual greeting. Even when Manny had been their broker, Ed had very little to say to Manny unless it was a specific question. He was a direct man who seemed to dislike idle chitchat.

  As Manny cheesed for a few pictures with Lauren, he was determined not to let Ed’s standoffishness spoil the moment for him. Ed did not have to be his friend. He and Lauren were hanging buddies. When Ed was out of town, Manny filled an increasing void for Lauren.

  “Oh no, you didn’t leave Tandy there with Cynthia,” Lauren said, looking over in Tandy’s direction.

  “I better get back on duty.”

  “I’ll see you inside.”

  Manny hurried back to Tandy and placed his hand on her elbow to steer her away from Cynthia, who would have undoubtedly gone on talking all night. Tandy seemed a bit agitated as they entered the lobby, filled with an even larger crowd dressed in their finest evening apparel. Now they were moving about an inch a minute, but Manny didn’t really mind. He was enjoying the people-watching, although he dared not let Tandy catch him gawking. Manny could sense her body stiffening. He was not used to seeing her in such a state. She was usually totally composed. He wondered if she was feeling unwell, or if the crowd was bothering her. Then it hit him. This time last year, Tandy would have been arriving with Phil. Maybe she was getting nostalgic and holding it inside, Manny thought to himself. Tandy was not the type of person to share her emotions, and Manny was not the type to pry—especially not on a night like tonight.

  Tandy felt nauseated. She needed to get a grip on herself before she passed out. This was not the place to be laid out flat, but she felt like her world was spinning out of control. Tandy had felt sick from the moment her stilettos hit the pavement. Nothing felt right tonight. The problems started when she could not afford a suitable new dress. The gowns her publicist had brought over were from last season—a total slap in the face by the designers. In the past, Tandy had been given first dibs on the latest couture gowns for all of the events she chaired; the designers and boutiques were fully aware that she would ensure great visibility. For this year’s affair, she had been forced to wear one of her vintage gowns and try to pull it off as a retro look.

  Tandy knew she needed to conquer her fear befor
e the facade she fostered crumbled. She did not intend to be found out a fraud. The immediate injury was that Elise McNeil was foaming at the mouth over Lauren Thomas. Normally, Tandy would have been the person Elise handpicked to interview. After all, she was on the museum’s board and this was her signature event. But for some reason, Elise had barely noticed her tonight. Sure, the third-rate paparazzi had hounded her for a quote, but they didn’t matter. They weren’t Town & Country or Vanity Fair or The New York Times. Tandy was not of the belief that any publicity was good publicity. Such matters needed to be carefully orchestrated. All of the publications of social importance were jockeying to get shots and quotes from Lauren. And the sick part was that Lauren didn’t even care about or need the publicity. It was a joke to her, something for her to shrug at or laugh about over lunch with Manny and Tandy. Lauren was becoming a media darling and did not care. Tandy had slaved for years to be in the position Lauren had fallen into just because she had married a billionaire and happened to be stunningly beautiful. Well, so was she, Tandy thought; or she used to be, until Mother Time had started chipping away at the one weapon she’d counted on over the years. Despite the fact that she once had been that rare bird—a female African-American junior partner in a prominent New York law firm—she had relied on her appearance to give her the extra edge. Sadly, she thought, since she had not practiced law in twenty years, her fading looks might be all she had left.

  “May I check your wrap for you?” Manny asked as they neared the coat check.

  “You’re a doll,” Tandy told Manny, who she thought rather resembled a little chipmunk, scurrying about kissing the ass of everyone he thought might buy property. She wondered if he’d be so eager to run every one of her errands, including taking her fabric to the upholsterer, if he knew she was damn near bankrupt. She doubted it, but that did not stop her from using him for every favor he was willing to give. Despite his charm, he was transparent to her. But he had Lauren fooled. Hell, if Lauren weren’t married to Ed Thomas, if she lived in a Chelsea rent-controlled apartment, Manny Marks wouldn’t fit her in to an interview for his assistant’s job. The way he sucked up to Lauren was disgusting, running over to her and Ed to kiss their rings as if they were royalty. Lauren disgusted Tandy. She wasn’t royalty. She had simply married a king—the one Tandy should have snagged when she had the opportunity all those years ago. She and Ed had shared something special. She was still trying to determine whether or not that opportunity was lost for good. Now here Lauren was, a little girl playing dress-up, giggling all the time, eyes wide like she was so damn innocent. Tandy was the real royalty, only Ed had not realized it. Their timing had been wrong. They both had spouses when they had several romantic trysts over the course of a hot, humid Martha’s Vineyard summer. Tandy was the one who had earned the right, the respect, the title. Her problem was the lack of cash. But that would be changing soon. She was determined of that, even if she had to marry a troll.