Woman on Top Page 10

  “No, five million a year, totaling twenty-five million dollars, over the next five years.”

  My instincts were to jump up and dance on her conference room table, instead I took a sip of the very expensive, Veen bottled water and before saying thank you, I asked, “Why?”

  “My dear, you are different. I’ve never had anyone ask why,” she said, covering her mouth as she laughed. “However to answer your question, I believe a woman of your stature deserves the support of someone like myself. And if my research is correct, you need about forty-million to make you solid for the next ten years?”

  As I’d suspected, Raquel Turner-Cosby had thoroughly done her homework but I never expected her to donate at this level. Someone was definitely watching over me. Had this been Haney’s doing?

  “Forty-million yes, but I don’t know what to say, how to thank you. Believe me I’m truly grateful, but thank you just doesn’t seem to be enough. I mean it’s so much more than I expected or could’ve imagined. Thank you.”

  Bringing over the selection of mini desserts, she returned to her seat and facing me said, “You’re very welcome, it’s what I do when I believe in a project, but I do have one request.”

  My stomach flipped. It was coming – she was gay, and I was going to have to sleep with her to get the money, and for twenty-five million, I just might do it.

  “I’m hoping you’d consider an invitation to High Tea with a group of my friends. We meet a few times a year at each other’s homes to discuss things that I’m sure would be of interest to you. We call ourselves High Skirts.”

  Even before responding, I couldn’t help but laugh at the name. “High Skirts, isn’t that kind of sexist?”

  Her French manicured fingernails gracefully swept away the strands of hair that had fallen across her eyes.

  “Exactly, so who’d expect it to be us?”

  I sat back, crossed my legs, ready to receive whatever else she had to offer. “Mrs. Cosby, I’d be happy to attend your tea.”

  In that instant, a broad smile filled her face and I realized that in all the pictures I’d seen of her online, this face hadn’t been one of them.

  “Great, because we’re the women behind the men who think they run this damn city. Now listen up, this is how it’ll play out. First we’ll have champagne, then Gwendolyn will email you an itinerary detailing tomorrow’s brief press conference. The necessary paperwork for us both to sign off on as a patron donor will be messengered to your Craig Ernst. I’m giving you my personal cell so if you have any concerns please call me, I’ll do my best to make myself available. Are we clear?”

  “Mrs. Cosby, yes we’re clear; I don’t know how to thank you, but thank you.” I said, unable to imagine how this would change things for Blessed Babies.

  “Good, now let’s have champagne.”

  That night at home, I was too excited to cook, especially after six bottles of Grand Krug Cuvee champagne were delivered with a note from Mrs. Cosby stating that we were on our way to bigger things. This woman had class and I planned to be in her company for a long time.

  My night was busy, filled with not only tending to my daughter, but there were also phone calls to be made, emails to be sent, and I had to thank Mr. Haney. But more importantly, there was Malik to contend with. Not so much about Mrs. Cosby, but about how I’d gotten to her. To test his mood I sent him a text.

  Tiffany: Nylah wants to wait up

  Malik: 10:30

  Tiffany: Chinese?

  Malik: Works for me

  Malik arrived home at exactly ten-thirty and even though I was excited to tell him about my meeting with Mrs. Cosby, I’d yet to figure out the best way to tell him about Haney being the catalyst.

  “What’s up? Nylah sleep?” he asked, walking into the kitchen.

  “Yes, I checked on her a few minutes ago. I hope you’re still hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  As was our routine while he ate, I listened to him recap his day at City Hall, filling me in on the search for Officer Campbell’s killer and the ongoing issue of whether or not to decriminalize marijuana.

  “I landed another patron donor today,” I casually offered when he finished.

  “Nice,” he said, paying more attention to Sports Center and the beer I’d sat down in front of him, than to what I was saying.

  “Raquel Turner-Cosby is donating $25 million to Blessed Babies. We have a press conference tomorrow.”

  Chopsticks down, television muted. “Woman, are you serious or you trying to distract me?”

  “I’m serious, I met with her this afternoon and we’re holding a press conference tomorrow. Mr. Haney connected the two of us.”

  “For someone who was so paranoid, look who’s friends with Haney now. But seriously, how the hell did he, or did you, do that?”

  Either Malik wasn’t surprised or maybe my being involved with Haney wasn’t a big deal; it was simply business.

  “She sent word through him that she wanted to meet. I guess they’re friends.”

  “Turner-Cosby doesn’t have friends, only puppets that do her bidding. What’s next?” he asked, returning to his iPad, presumably tweeting.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is she taking over your center?”

  “Of course not, why would you ask that?”

  He finished off his beer before saying, “She’s a power hungry woman who takes what she wants, that’s why.”

  His comment was deflating because instead of being happy for BBWC, and me, he was distrustful.

  “Thanks, Malik, I’m glad you’re happy for me,” I said, turning my back to begin loading the dishwasher.

  “It’s not that, I am happy. Usually though, when people throw that kind of money at you, they want something in return. I’m sorry.”

  Changing the subject, I told him, “I saw Wesley today.”

  “He’s been trying to meet with me and I haven’t had time.”

  “What does he want?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t have time for his whining about what’s wrong in the community. He needs to take that to Wu. What time is this press conference tomorrow and where’s it being held?” Malik asked, turning the conversation back to Mrs. Cosby.

  “It’ll be at noon, in time for the news and it’s being held at the Wellness Center.”

  “You know she’s a Republican, right?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Would be nice if she’d consider tossing some money into my re-election campaign.”

  “She doesn’t appear to be the type of woman you’d ask to toss anything.”

  “Good, I’m happy for you. Any more Chinese?”

  “Sure, here, give me your bowl.”

  “I’m going to stay down here and watch the game, you going to bed?”

  “I wasn’t, but if you’d rather be alone. . .”

  “No, it’s not that, I just have some documents to read and a few calls to make, so I won’t be much company and I know you have a big day tomorrow.”

  I realized then that my husband was dismissing me. If it was for work, then fine, but it felt more like a slight because of my meeting with Mrs. Cosby. But like it or not, I was not turning down what she had to offer.

  Chapter 10

  Maxed Out

  To make up for my cancelled birthday trip to New York, Malik agreed to attend Max and Lynn’s dinner party. I was a bit nervous because rarely did Malik and I attend social gatherings that weren’t politically motivated. However, my husband assured me that the night would not turn into a debate.

  Following Max’s instructions on the party being casual, I dressed in a knee length smoke gray pencil skirt with exposed buttons down the back, a sheer pink blouse on top, matching silk teddy underneath, and a pair of killer three-inch heels that I knew would be off by the end of the night. Then, for the first time, I dabbed on his perfume, Farmesiana in all my special places. And to show Max I wasn’t boring, I took my hair out of its bun, flat ironed it straig
ht, and wore it down over my left shoulder with a side part. Even I was surprised at how sexy I not only looked, but felt. This, I told myself, was going to be a good night.

  To ensure we wouldn’t be the first to arrive, I’d purposely lied to Malik, telling him that the party started 45 minutes later than it did. He was picking me up after having attended an earlier cocktail reception at the Union League, which worked out well because Phinn rang the bell at exactly eight-fifteen.

  Sliding into the backseat, before Malik even spoke to me, he gently took my face in his hands, bringing me to him for a kiss. He pulled back and then kissed me again before nuzzling my neck. With a smile dangling at the corner of his mouth, he said, “Stop the car, Phinn, I think you picked up the wrong woman.”

  “Maybe you should take me out more often, to more than those stodgy political functions,” I teased, pushing back from him.

  He moved my hair from my shoulder and playfully bit my neck. “Seriously turn this car around, we’re going home.”

  Phinn bought the car to a halt. “Yes, sir.”

  “Malik, stop playing, you’re going to make us late and you’re messing up my hair.”

  “You smell so good, what do you have on?” he asked.

  I smoothed my hair back into place while he stared at the sexy woman he’d forgotten was his wife, never though answering his question about my fragrance. “Phinn, please don’t listen to him,” I said, tapping on the seat in front of us.

  “Sir?”

  “Phinn, it’s whatever Mrs. Skinner wants tonight, how’s that?”

  “If it’s whatever I want, then I want your undivided attention all night, beginning right now and that means no calls, no texting and no social media.”

  “And that you shall have,” he said, before putting away his mobile and closing the cover to his iPad.

  With his attention now focused on me, he asked about Blessed Babies, the Philly schools I’d been researching for Nylah, and when I thought would be the best time to travel to Paris. He even asked if the new housekeeper was working out. I relished in all his adoration.

  The drive to Wyncote took about 25 minutes and after turning off Church Lane, we veered into what seemed to be a park, until we came to Serpentine Lane. There were only five houses on the tree-lined street, and at the end of the cul-de-sac there was a circular driveway leading to Max’s two-story colonial.

  When the double doors opened, a bubbly Max, outfitted in a candy apple red maxi dress, with her locs pulled up in a loose bun, greeted us.

  “Tiffany, oh my God, I’m so glad you made it,” she exclaimed over the music of John Legend singing, “Tonight” in the background. Pulling me in for a hug like we’d been friends for years, she said, “And you smell wonderful!”

  “Thanks, Max, and I see who’s wearing the bun tonight,” I teased, bringing girly laughter from the both of us.

  “Mr. Mayor, I’m sorry; good evening, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Max said, a bit more reserved, yet opening her arms to hug Malik as well.

  “Tiffany, Mayor Skinner, this is my husband, Lynn,” she said of the thick and handsome man who came to stand next to her.

  Taking my hand and kissing it, Lynn said, “First Lady, it’s a pleasure to meet the woman my wife keeps talking about.”

  Liking him already, I responded, “We’re happy to be here.”

  Extending a hearty handshake and chest bump to Malik, he said, “Welcome to my castle, brother.”

  Max gave him a disapproving look as if he’d been disrespectful.

  Sounding like every bit the politician, Malik told them, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting the both of you, and attending tonight’s event.”

  I wanted to say, it’s not an event, Malik, it’s a party; but instead I turned my attention to Max, handing her a gift bag that included a bottle of Gran Krug champagne and a money tree plant. “Here, these are for you.”

  “First stop is the bar. You drink Bourbon, right Mayor?”

  “Lynn, on that you’d be correct.”

  We followed Max and Lynn around the open staircase that separated the formal living room on the right and dining room on the left. Behind the staircase was the family room, centered with a curvaceous beige leather sofa that was across from a brick fireplace. Above the fireplace hung a 60-inch flat screen television.

  “Everyone’s outside,” Max said, gesturing toward open French doors that led to a terrace where I could see the sparks from an open pit. “Tiff, before you go out, I have something for you. Now I know you like your red wine, see if you like this.”

  “I’m sure I will,” I said, following her to the makeshift bar in the dining room.

  “Zen Zin, a red Zinfandel? You ever have it? If you don’t like it, I also picked up a bottle of Jordan Cabernet Sauvignon 2010, how about that?” she asked, pouring it into a sexy long stemmed goblet.

  “What did you do? Become a wine enthusiast overnight?” I asked while swishing and breathing in the wine before taking a sip. “This is good.”

  “C’mon, we’re well stocked,” she said, leading me out to the terrace.

  The three other couples had already arrived, and we were introduced to Chris, a professor of English at Temple, and his wife Christy, an administrator at Haverford High and Renee, a PwC accountant, and her husband, Thomas, who owned a string of daycares throughout the suburbs. Lastly there was Peterman, Lynn’s fleet manager and his wife Sonia, a stay-at-home mom to three children.

  Everyone was quite friendly and welcoming with backgrounds that made for a diverse conversation. It was a bit uncomfortable though, having everyone in such a personal setting keep referring to Malik as either Mr. Mayor or Mayor Skinner.

  Fortunately, it wasn’t a sit down dinner, but the appetizers were heavy and plentiful, both being passed and set on the high top tables in the house. Servers offered seared scallops and lollipop lamb chops and there were endless dishes of seafood guacamole, honey chicken, sushi, overstuffed potatoes, and riblets. I wanted to taste everything.

  “How’d you come up with such a variety of food?” I asked Max.

  “Girl, I’ve had so many of these gatherings over the years that I started keeping a list of my friends’ favorite things. Thus the theme for tonight! C’mon with me in the kitchen.”

  If I thought Max’s home was beautiful, her kitchen was a chef’s dream. Besides all the food that was being replenished by the servers, there was a glass front Jenn Air refrigerator, gleaming copper pots suspended from an overhead rack and frosted glass front cabinets. And underneath the stone kitchen island was a built-in Electrolux wine cooler that was fully stocked.

  By no means was my semi-detached home in Girard Estates shabby, as I’d taken great care in selecting furniture, paint colors, art, and window treatments. But the Welker’s home was straight off the pages of Architectural Digest. It made me want to immediately go home and redecorate.

  “What the hell kind of stove is this?” I asked, admiring the grill and range hood that extended to the ceiling.

  “It’s a Wolf; they said it was damaged, but it’s like new to me.”

  “I get it, it fell off a truck?”

  “You didn’t hear it from me.”

  “Max, your house is beautiful,” I said, wandering through to the dining room with its high back leather chairs and a table that seated twelve.

  From the doorway, she said, “I know you’re wondering about all this on a teacher and trucker’s salary.”

  “I am not counting your money.”

  Twisting her lips, she chided, “Yeah, right.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “When I told you Lynn was a truck driver, actually he owns the company, Welker Trucking, six trucks, drivers, staff and an office over on Stenton Avenue.”

  “Really?”

  “His clients are interior designers, very high end, like Carmen, she’ll be here later.”

  My eyes were wide in disbelief. Talk about making an impression and I thought their home
would be average because he was a truck driver and she a teacher. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “Don’t look so shocked, his insurance premiums are ridiculous. I mean we’re talking transportation for like thirty-thousand dollar couches and million dollar chandeliers.”

  “Then I can’t wait to see the rest of house,” I exclaimed.

  Max was about to take me on a tour when I heard Malik in the other room getting loud with excitement. I peeped into the family room to see what the noise was all about.

  “Tiffany, woman come here; I have somebody for you to meet.”

  Putting his arm around me, Malik proudly said, “This here is Coach Marshall Dillon, of Gwynedd Mercy College and his wife, Carmen, designer to the stars.”

  “Nice to meet you, Carmen and Marshall,” I said, extending my hand to shake, but instead they took turns greeting me with a hug, while my husband stood there grinning.

  Looking from Lynn to Malik, Marshall asked, “How the hell do you two know each other?”

  “Our wives met at the spa,” Malik told him.

  Hugging Malik again, Marshall exclaimed, “This is great! Man, I haven’t seen you since you took office.”

  Carmen chimed in as well, “Is Tootie still down in South Philly? How’s Nanny? I stopped in to see her around the holidays.”

  “Everybody’s good. Wow, this is great!” he replied, honestly happy to see old friends.

  “What about Blu Eyes? I hear that crazy-ass Negro’s a cop; how’d that happen? I know for sure he got a record,” Coach Dillon joked.

  “Don’t we all got a record, at least a juvenile one?” Malik surprisingly responded.

  “Point Breeze for life!” they all said together.

  I had to laugh because I’d never seen Malik like this, among real friends, with the exception of the time we spent with Tootie and Wesley. It was also a surprise that he’d never mentioned these two.

  By now everyone was back in the family room, joining in on the Point Breeze reunion.

  “Mr. Mayor, looks like it’s old home day for you,” said Peterman.