Billionaire Secrets of a Wanglorious Bastard (4 page)

“I don't need protection. I'm guaranteed the job offer.”

“You have an offer to work here this summer. You don't have a guaranteed job offer to work here after you graduate.”

I sucked my teeth. “I go to Columbia Law School, Enos.”

“So?”

“So? That should be enough for me to get an offer. I mean, they don't want to offend Columbia. Did you know they actually pay Columbia to interview us?”

“Speak for yourself. I went to Brooklyn Law.”

I patted him on the back. “The rules are different for you guys. No offence.”

“You know what?” Enos smacked my arm away. “Fuck you.”

“Hey, easy, cousin.”

He sucked his teeth.
 

Tani said, “I went to Harvard, which is higher ranked than Columbia, Rufus.”

That was the truth. And it hurt.

“I know it's a hard truth, but Enos wasn't lying. That's how it works around here. I mean, look at me. I'm only here because I'm willing to do paralegal work for my partner who went to a law school that went under.”

My stomach rumbled. This was not what I’d signed up for at all. I had offers at other firms I turned down, because of the art law group, cushy summers, and lifestyle. Now I have none of that.
 

Goddamn it. I wanted to hit something. So I slapped my thigh.

Tani said, “You okay?”

“It was a fly.”

“Okay.”

I took a deep breath.
I can do this. Just find one person.
I could totally do it. Things were different, but I could adapt.
 

“Okay.” I extended a hand to Enos. “Sorry, cousin.”

He looked at me sideways. “We're cool.”

“You just gonna leave me hanging?”

“Fuck is that.” He slapped my hand.
 

“I deserved that. So, if we're good, give me a breakdown.”

Tani said, “First, you have Grimes. He's a new-school partner. Sees clients are walking dollars to be spent. Nothing more.”

Enos said, “Annoying kissass.”

I said, “He's a baller?”

Tani nodded. “He doesn’t surround himself with trappings of money.”

Enos said, “He leaves that to his girl, Trudi.”

I said, “Trudi?”

Enos said, “I'll tell you about her later. But she's the reason why he's pussy whipped.”

Tani said, “I just think he lacks self-esteem. But it just manifests itself in terrible ways.”

I said, “Like what?”

Enos said, “He imposes his will on inferiors and his peers, while kissing superior ass.”

Tani said, “Shouting at his secretary to motivate instead of the old-school flowers, candy, and genteel ways.”

Enos said, “Don't forget bullying clients.”

I said, “With his fists?”

Enos sniggered. “That dweeb? He's just annoying. Passive-aggressive bullying.”

I said, “Okay, I don't want to work for him. What about Trudi?”

Enos said, “Jasmine/Trudi. Grade A gold digger who believes she’s an independent, classy woman, but really is a spoiled Carrie Bradshaw wannabe.”

Tani said, “She creates unnecessary drama.”

Enos said, “She's always bandaged. Addicted to unnecessary cosmetic surgical procedures.”

I said, “Self-esteem?”

Enos said, “Racist. She's removing all vestiges of ethnicity.”

Tani said, “And she always has roaming fat from liposuction.”

I gagged.

Tani said, “First belly, then leg, then a humpback.”

I said, “Why is fat removal racist?'

Enos said, “The name 'Jasmine' was too ethic for her. So she introduces herself as Trudi. She's an Iranian who thinks she’s white, and looks down on minorities.”

Tani said, “She's kind of white. You know, off-white.”

I said, “I dated someone like that once. Would be tricky. Any other intel on her?”

Enos said, “She masturbates to online Cartier/Tiffany websites.”

I said, “By herself?”

Enos nodded. “Pops caught her on all fours in her office paddling the pink canoe on the ground while surfing those sites on her iPad.”

Tani said, “Don't you mean on her threes? She needed one to do the paddling.”

Enos sucked his teeth. “She still could've used an elbow.”

Tani did a double take. “To paddle?”

Enos balled a fist. “To rest on the ground while her hand did the paddling. The fuck, man?”

I said, “Let me guess. She calls drinks ‘cocktails’ and refers to a boyfriend as ‘lover’ even though they’re not fucking.”

Tani said, “She's ambitious about being…ambitious.

Enos added, “She moves throughout the firm. First, she started with a mailroom guy, then a paralegal, then a lawyer.” Enos beamed and clasped his hands together. “Cuz, you could pretend to be a partner and see if she wants you.”

I waved him away. “I don't need to pretend to be anything.”

Tani whipped out his pinky. “Is that a bet?”

I said, “What's your problem?”

Tani frowned like I’d crushed his dreams.
 

Enos said, “There's a woman you should definitely stay away from. Natasha. Stack hired her for himself, so anyone who goes out with her is canned.”

I grinned. “So I really need to know her?”

Enos rushed me. “You are to never talk to her. Got it?”

I said, “She gonna set me up or something?”

Enos said, “She’s oblivious to all this.”

Tani said, “A female associate fired because a partner thought she was tempting her to be a lesbian. And get this, the associate had a husband and two kids.”

Enos said, “And you forgot about the stable.”

I said, “The stable?”

Britney opened the door. “Tani, can you speak to someone looking for Stack?”

Tani mouthed “fuck” before putting on a fake smile. “Sure, where is he?”

Enos bowed and I headed for my office.

11

I WAS HORRIFIED
at the abortion that seemed to be my new career. I couldn't believe my cousin, at least until I thought about him and then realized I totally could believe him. And that Tani guy? How did one make a career out of that? Assuming he wanted a career in the first place. Probably didn't want anything but a paycheck. But what if that ended? What came next?

Before I could consider it, my phone rang. I picked it up and almost said, “Hello,” before remembering work etiquette.

“Rufus Wang speaking.”

A husky voice said, “Is Mr. Goldberg in?”

Goldberg. I guessed I wasn't the only one who was missing him. “No, sir. He's no longer with the firm.”

“My goodness. I've been reaching him at this number for fifteen years. Can you tell me where I can reach him?”

I wanted to reach him for selling me the wrong bill of goods. “He works at the Olympus Group.”

“Makes sense. Thanks.”

He hung up, and I wanted to throw up. “Makes sense”? Why did it make sense? What kind of shit firm was this?

It didn't matter. I needed to work.

I wondered what Lola was up to.

How else was I going to bill, like Xandra said? I ran a calculation to see how many hours I needed to work for the rest of the week. I guessed the personal shopper work counted. Shooting the shit with my cuz? Not so much.

When I opened up my Krueller email account, I saw multiple intruder alerts from a guy named “RE COOLIE” noting the following:

An intruder was seen on the 45th floor wearing either a navy-blue or black shirt, Asian male, 5'8” or 6'0”. If you see this person or if any of your belongings are missing, please call ext. 1862 immediately.

-Security-

An intruder was seen on the 45th floor wearing either a navy-blue or shirt Arab male, 5'8” or 6'0”. If you see this person or if any of your belongings are missing, please call ext. 1862 immediately.

-Security-

It was just reported that an intruder was seen on the 38th floor: Early 20s, Hispanic, short, dark hair, dressed in a dark blue shirt, carrying a brown envelope. If you see someone matching this description or if you notice that any of your personal belongings are missing, call ext. 1862 immediately.

The intruder kind of sounded like me.
 

Was it me?

After all, I was in my early twenties, had short, dark hair, and was impeccably dressed. People couldn’t place my race, but that was nothing new. The only thing about the descriptions that bugged me, other than their racist nature, was the five-foot-eight height estimation. I was six feet tall, damn it all. I needed some answers. If I spoke to anyone I didn’t trust, it could cost me my job.
 

Rufus and Tani left. But I saw a familiar name.

Taylor. From my interview.

After all, the descriptions could have been about him as well, since it didn’t mention skin tone and there are super-light-skinned blacks (Colin Powell), Hispanics (Marc Anthony), and Arabs (Bert, from Sesame Street).
 

“Can’t be me, Rufus, if they don’t have the race right.”
 

I took that to mean Taylor might be one of those Cape Verdean or Persian types who didn’t identify themselves racially in the big five (black, white, Arab, Asian, Native American). Those types of folks didn't like people getting all in their genetic business, so I decided to be more vague. “Still, this is some strange shit. In the years you’ve been here, ever experience any racial weirdness?”

“Minorities treat me fine.”

I laughed, thinking Taylor was cracking jokes.

“Where'd you go for undergrad, Taylor?”

“Howard University.”

“The black school?”

“Howard was diverse. They even had affirmative action scholarships for white people.”

I didn't want to press it. I mean, race discussions on the job weren't copacetic.
 

Maybe I was wrong thinking Taylor could identify with my concerns as a person of color. Maybe he was white after all. Perhaps Taylor liked talking about race because Taylor was racially cool and understood black issues from his Howard days. After all, there is a difference between application and interpretation, meaning one could understand the motivations and issues an individual faced without agreeing with those motivations and issues.
 

“There's some racist-ass shit here, Taylor.”

“Maybe they're not really racists, but just jerks?”

“The intruder alerts? Being mistaken for mailroom workers?”

Taylor tittered.

“I don’t know, Taylor. I mean, you’re from Howard, you know about institutionalized racism. Is it better to be invited to a club that won’t accept you as a member and feel like a loser or to not be invited at all?”

“I’d rather be invited. The pay is better than the alternative.”

12

THE DAY O'
disappointment melted my musculature. I barely dragged myself to my apartment. Not that the loud music helped.
 

Death metal.

Made me feel homicidal.

I never understood what she saw, or really heard while listening to it. Other than dudes that sounded like Cookie Monster. “Nom nom nom nom” was all I heard. It made me wonder if she had some Muppet fetish. Thank the Lord I hadn't found out by now. And if she did? I'd take an earful of Cookie Monster music over me in a blue furry suit trying to schtup her while singing “C is for Cookie” anyway. And that was for damn sure.

“Hey, baby. How was your first day?”

That was Rhage.
 

Pronounced like rage, not like the Kurosawa movie
Ran
with the letter J. My girlfriend, which is so weird to say, given my past romantic failures. Our current relationship was, how do I say, more mellow than it had been in the past. You'd think because she was on some meds that made her less prone to violence as well as reduced her libido.
 

But she wasn't on anything.

In fact, she claimed we had sex too early in our relationship, and that was what caused a lot of our earlier conflict. She claimed that being sex free put her in a better place now.

I wondered if she was cheating, but didn't have any proof. Other that the lack of sex, our relationship was in a better place. You’d think that not getting any would make me randier for her.

Quite the opposite.

Our sex life before she started abstaining was so bad that it made me long for the days of masturbation.

No exaggeration.
 

She blamed that on our having sex too early as well. She said we didn't know one another for who we were, as our passion blinded us. Still, she was my first, so I had no point of comparison, other than porn. And I was fully aware that porn was fantasy.
 

Still, I wondered. And there's nothing wrong with wondering, right? My father would tell me that looking wasn't doing. Thinking wasn't cheating. Flirting was innocent until you did something. I did wonder if Rhage's sex abstention was some passive-aggressive way of breaking up with me, which is funny in and of itself, because in the old days of our relationship, Rhage was anything but passive in her non-sexual aggression. We'd kiss, hug, spoon, but that was it. Soon as I grabbed a tit, she'd smack my hand, and I'd feel all rapey, so I'd stop. When I went for her butt or goodies, she'd get up, leave the room, and cry about how I didn't love her for her and how she wished that we waited.
 

Totally killed the mood and made me feel like shit.

Anyhoo, that's enough about that, because I'm depressing myself.
 

Rhage was splashing paint on a floor-sized canvas. I had to take off my shoes and pants to not get any on me. Kind of reminded me of when we'd first hook up. I'd carefully take off my clothes and gingerly drape them over a chair. I had put them on a coat hanger, but Rhage said I was being a prissy boy. She just didn't understand. I was from the South. And in the South, we take things like ironing and wrinkles seriously. Not like her. She'd wear clothes all wrinkled. My mother would have a heart attack if she saw how Rhage dressed.
 

After a few tiptoes around her splatter, I slipped and landed right on my butt. Paint splashed everywhere. I felt so humiliated. I couldn't get up without pushing myself up off the canvas. And that meant I'd have to splatter more paint with my palms. What the hell was Rhage doing? I needed help.