Humbled (6 page)

Friday was extremely intense, and Tamara was mentally exhausted from the events of the day. As defeated as she felt, Tamara couldn't help but think about Zarah. She was worse off, getting pregnant in the middle of a divorce.
Ugh,
Tamara thought. She was compelled to check on her, so she picked up the phone and dialed her number.

After a few rings Zarah answered. Tamara was kind of surprised. “I expected the housekeeper to answer. Has she gone home for the day?”

“She has. There's no one here except me. I'm alone.”

Tamara could detect the sorrow, which was becoming commonplace when they spoke, but she didn't want to spotlight it. She tried to make the conversation pleasant. “I can't believe you're going to be a mother by next spring. Incredible.”

Zarah didn't respond.

Tamara kept trying to lighten the conversation. There had to be something she could say to make Zarah cheer up. She'd keep trying. That was what friends did. “Remember a few months ago, when we spent the day together and went shopping? Let's take another day and hang out. I could certainly stand a day out, and you could too.”

“No, I don't want to go far. I'm not well.”

“Come on. Women have babies every day and survive. You will too, with or without a husband.” Tamara would have gladly snatched the words back if it hadn't been too late. Her comment had already pierced Zarah's soul. The very topic Tamara had worked hard to avoid had slithered its way into the conversation. Joel was everywhere. She couldn't shake him. “You have to pull yourself together. How can you be a mother if you're sad most of the time?”

“I don't know if I'll be a good mother.”

Stop with the nonsense,
Tamara thought. Genuinely, she was fond of Zarah. Zarah was a cool person, but the whining was taking a toll. Tamara was peeved by her constant wallowing in self-pity. She bet Joel wasn't sitting in a dark Chicago corner agonizing over Zarah. Most likely, he was having a good time while his wife patiently waited for him, as if he were returning home from war. Zarah needed to hear an honest assessment of her marriage, but Tamara knew she was too fragile or naive. She wasn't sure which, and it wouldn't have mattered under normal conditions. However, this was far from normal. Zarah had to be stable. With Tamara running from her past, from her mother, and from the clutches of those who wished to dictate her life, the only path to freedom ran directly through Harmonious Energy and Zarah's ownership of the former DMI West Coast division. That path to freedom kept her on the phone, committed to Zarah.

“Maybe you have too much free time. Have you considered my suggestion about assuming leadership of your father's company?”

“I have not had much energy for business,” Zarah replied.

She'd better make energy. If Joel was her priority, lying around in mourning wasn't getting his behind on the highway to Detroit. Zarah had better wake up and stop letting Joel run her life remotely from three hundred miles away. “If I were you, I'd find energy. If you want Joel to become interested in you, I suggest you make yourself more appealing.”

“You don't think I look appealing?”

“No, no, I don't mean your physical appearance. I meant you have to become attractive to Joel by letting him see that you have what he wants.”

“What's that?”

“Power.”

“I don't understand.”

Was it the language barrier or the euphoria of an imaginary love affair that caused Zarah to appear childlike? Tamara wanted to bury her head in a pillow and fall asleep, forgetting about everybody with the last name Mitchell. But she couldn't. Her future was at stake. She had to get Zarah to understand the urgency of taking over the Bengali family business. It was Tamara's best shot at being able to buy the West Coast division. If the Harmonious Energy advisory board had a say, they'd probably sell the division to Don and DMI since there was a partnership already established. She couldn't let such a deal happen, because then she'd probably have to succumb to the Mitchell machine and be forced to take a job at DMI. She couldn't entertain that possibility. Zarah was her only answer.

“You have tremendous power at your fingertips. You own the West Coast division. You have part ownership in your father's company. Trust me. Don and DMI don't want to keep the other half. Since the companies' religious philosophies are so conflicting, the DMI board of directors will sell it off the first chance they get. You might as well buy it outright and own the entire thing. If you're controlling a major company and having Joel's baby too, he's bound to come home.” Tamara hesitated, struggling to continue with her recommendation. Telling another woman to chase after a man with a baby and bucks latched to both hips was deplorable. She shook her head in disgust. It wasn't Tamara's way of securing a mate, but Zarah was the one who wanted Joel by any means. Therefore, Tamara reasoned, she was helping a friend get what she clearly wanted. “Why wait for Joel to make your decision? Get on with your goals in the meantime. Let him see you as a strong woman.”

“Maybe you are correct. I have not thought about it this way.”

“What's the worst that could happen? You become CEO of a multimillion-dollar company, you have a beautiful baby, and you wake up happy every day. It doesn't sound like a bad consolation prize to me.”

“Yes, your story sounds very nice,” Zarah said.

“And maybe you could sell the West Coast division to me, because I can't work at DMI. It's too stressful for me there. I have to start my own company,” Tamara added.

“Perhaps we can both have companies to run,” Zarah replied.

Zarah's reaction was precisely what Tamara needed to hear. Finally, there was a sign of hope. Tamara was relieved. She would continue encouraging Zarah to take hold of the company.
Let Joel stay in Chicago for the rest of his life, if he wanted,
she thought. Tamara wanted no one to care for him, especially Zarah. He didn't deserve his wife's loyalty or love. He surely didn't deserve a stake in her company. Hopefully, Zarah would reserve those perks for her faithful supporters, a short list which Tamara planned to stay in the number one spot.

She ended the call and plopped onto her bed, giddy. The West Coast division was a tiny bit closer. With a tad more prodding, balanced out with healthy doses of encouragement, Zarah could cross the finish line of independence, with Tamara poised on the sideline, ready to catch the West Coast division. Tamara rolled over and grabbed the TV remote. The day had been intense, like a bulldozer, but it had ended on an upbeat note. She was pleased and was eager to sail into a productive weekend. There was work to do.

Chicago had been the ideal haven for Joel several weeks ago, before he got the awful news about the pregnancy. He was fighting to keep a healthy outlook on life and stay motivated. Joel wanted to bury his head in the sand lining the Chicago beachfront, but who was he kidding? The millions, maybe billions, of grains of sand weren't sufficient to bury his predicament. His last hope was getting one of his financial propositions to materialize. Then he'd have a greater purpose, beyond answering his wife's cries of desperation.

Joel leaned against the wall in the penthouse foyer, holding his mobile phone.

“Mr. Mitchell, I can't,” said the male voice on the other end of the line.

“Please, call me Joel.”

“All right, Joel. As I was saying, I can't fund your proposal. It's too risky.”

Joel lifted his chin toward the ceiling, searching for a string of convincing words. “Come on. You're a venture capitalist. That's exactly what you do, loan money for risky start-up projects.”

“I am, but this is too risky,” the venture capitalist stated. “You want fifty million to start a religious consulting firm.”

The guy's description wasn't completely accurate. Joel wasn't starting a religious firm. He was planning to provide leadership training to churches. That's what he did at DMI. It was in his DNA. He'd run DMI for several years with unprecedented success. If he was given the financial backing to get started, he could build a profitable clientele again. Joel needed a break, and he was counting on this investor to give him one. Joel couldn't give up without a fight.

“You don't understand. I know this sector of the market,” Joel told the guy.

“Look, Joel, I've done my homework. There's already a dominant player in this space, as you know, DMI.”

Joel shoved his hand into his pocket. He teetered between being mad and being proud. “Then you also know DMI was my father's company, and I was the CEO for several years, during its most successful era. We had unprecedented sales during my tenure. I lived and breathed DMI. As I said, I know this market better than anyone in the business,” he said, raising his voice. Sheba came around the corner with a troubled expression on her face. He nodded and waved her off, mouthing that he was okay. She gave him a friendly smile and retreated.

“Joel, I'm sorry, but the U.S. audience is saturated by DMI. What's left is too small for you to make the kind of profits you're projecting.”

Joel pressed his fist against the wall. “Are you kidding me?” His voice was definitely elevated this time. “Do you know how many churches there are in the United States, let alone in the world, that could use leadership and financial management training? As established as DMI is, they could never service the entire country,” Joel said, squatting, with his back braced against the wall.

His excitement must have gotten Sheba worried again, because she poked her head around the corner. He waved her off, sealing his affirmation with a wink. Joel stared toward the window and gulped.

“I really need this money.” His words were razor sharp, and his head was heavy. His fist was pressed hard into the center of his forehead. “Please, I need your help.”

There was an abbreviated silence. Joel read it as a shift in his favor, until he heard, “The answer is no. I just can't help you with this venture. I wish you the best, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Joel. It's Joel, man. Call me Joel.”

“I'm sorry, Joel. Maybe next time.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said as the phone conversation came to a close, smashing his hopes in the process. Joel didn't move right away. Eventually, he sat down completely on the floor with his back against the wall and legs stretched out as thoughts bombarded him.

Sheba came around the corner again. His defeat was consuming him. In the presence of anyone else, he'd have mustered up a facade and pretended everything was fine. Thank goodness for Sheba. He didn't have to present a certain image or coddle her. He grabbed her hand as she plopped down on the floor next to him.

“That bad, huh?”

He nodded yes.

“Can I help?”

He shook his head no.

She laid her head on his shoulder. “It's not as dire as you think. You're a smart man who's successful at anything you set your mind to do.”

Her words blanketed him like a warm covering on a cold winter's night. “Have I told you lately how much you mean to me?”

“You have, and the feeling is mutual.”

“No, listen. I'm serious,” he said, turning to face her. “You have been a rock for me during the craziest time in my life. And not for one second have you judged me or beaten me down for the really dumb decisions I've made.”

Sheba patted his hand. “Why would I beat you down? I believe in you. I always have, and you know this.”

“I do, and your faith has been with me through hell.”

“You'd do the same for me,” she told him. They embraced briefly. “Now that we've had our mushy session, how can I help? I guess your appeal to the venture capitalist didn't end as you'd hoped.”

“Sure didn't,” he said. “This is crazy. I'm too tainted. Even the venture capitalist claimed I am too much of a risk. Can you believe it? I'm damaged goods, Sheba,” he said, smirking.

“No, you're not, Mr. Joel Mitchell.” She braced her hands on the floor to get up.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my checkbook.”

“No, you're not,” he said, getting up and helping her up too.

“Yes, I am, and you can't stop me. How much were you asking from the investor?”

“I'm not telling you.”

“Fine. Then I'll write a check for twenty-five million or have it wired to your account. I can give you another ten if you need more.”

Joel grabbed Sheba around the waist. “Seriously, thank you from the bottom of my heart, but no.” His voice was firm as his dignity kicked in. “Your friendship is the only gift I'm going to receive from you. No money, please. Let me do this my way.”

He could tell she was determined to help. He greatly appreciated her support, but dragging her into his pit of financial chaos wasn't an option. He valued and respected Sheba far too much to put her in a risky situation. He'd rather go without the seed money than to take it from his confidant. He'd accepted money from her once before, and the deal had gone badly. He had vowed never to do it again, regardless of how anemic his finances were. He aimed to keep his vow. Fortunately, his pride had rescued him from accepting the funds. Now reality was setting in. He had limited money and no plan on how to make more.

“What are you going to do?” Sheba asked as they strolled toward the living room, holding hands.

He'd pursued one idea after another in recent weeks, each leading to the same dead end. “I'm not sure, but I can't stay here.” He felt the tightening of her hand in his. “It's time to go home and face the music.”

“I'll hate to see you go, but I understand.” This generated a smile from him.

She always understood. “Do you remember when we met?” he said, letting affection season the conversation.

“How can I forget? We talked for hours.”

“Long before I got married.” Sorrow was hovering over him, but he clung to the positive. “I have to admit, you were this spicy entrepreneur who kept me laughing. I'd never met a woman like you, and to this day, I haven't met another one.”

She had generated a spark in him that was not easily quenched. He couldn't say it was romantic, although there was an undeniable chemistry between them. He accepted that there wasn't a clear way to define his connection with Sheba. Words seemed too limited. He preferred leaving the definition open, precisely as their relationship was. As far as Joel was concerned, she had a spot in his heart that no one would ever touch.

“Those happy days seem so long ago. So much has happened since then,” he mused.

“Many good things have happened,” Sheba said, sitting on the couch and gently pulling Joel's hand. He followed suit.

He drew in a long breath and let out the air. “This is it. I'm hitting the road tomorrow.” He had no idea what was in store for him, but whatever was waiting, he believed it was in Detroit.

“I'm sure your wife will be glad to see you. The two of you have some big decisions to make.”

“She's another story. Honestly, I'm not sure what's going to happen with us.” He leaned into Sheba. “I am smart enough to finally realize that I need God to give me some direction.”

“About the marriage?”

“That too, but I was really thinking about my business venture. God put me in charge of DMI once, and I can't go back to doing nothing.”

Sheba laid her head on him. “Don't worry. You'll find your way. Go home and do what you must. My place will be here for you whenever you need a place to rest, and so will I.”

She grabbed the remote and cued the music system. The evening had glided in, so Sheba dimmed the lights. The two gazed out at Lake Michigan, nestled on the couch. Tomorrow was certain to have challenges, but tonight was theirs.