Chapter 8 Hendrix
CHAPTER 8
HENDRIX
I ’ve got Zere on Zoom,” Skipper calls from the outer office. “Okay to pipe her in?”
“Sure.” I tweak the last sentence in my email to one of the Aspire Fund’s limited partners. “I’m ready.”
The large plasma screen mounted on the wall to my right lights up with Zere’s face. I know her well enough by now that the stunning smile doesn’t completely disguise the new sadness in her eyes.
“Morning, partner,” she says, tucking one long copper strand of hair behind her ear. “Have you recovered from Saturday night?”
“You could say that.” I swing my chair around to face the screen and stretch my back dramatically. “But this forty-year-old booty don’t twerk like it used to. I think I dislocated something popping on that last set.”
She laughs and I’m glad to see it chases away some of the sadness even if only for a moment. “Girl, same.”
“You’re forty?” I ask, lifting my brows.
“My next birthday.” She slides her gaze away. “It’s gonna be a tough one.”
“Forty’s not bad. Actually I’m having the time of my life. My career is on fire. I know myself better than I ever have. In my twenties, I was just running. Always in the streets and for what? In my thirties, I started asking big questions and looking for answers. Now I know exactly who I am and what I want. And I can finally afford myself.”
We both laugh, but the humor dwindles on her face quickly. “What about kids? A husband? Do you start to worry that maybe you won’t ever have those things?”
“One of them I don’t want,” I reply. “Childless by choice over here.”
“You really don’t want kids?” The shock on her face doesn’t surprise me. I’m used to it. Why is it so hard to believe there are women in the world who don’t want to act as host for a human who may never fully appreciate their sacrifices, drains their hard-earned money, and forces them to make the difficult choices that men, even as fathers, never seem to face?
“I really don’t.” I shrug. “Kids aren’t for everyone. Society tells us that, and there are a lot of abused, neglected, unloved kids in the world because women caved to antiquated gendered expectations. I like my life.”
“And what about companionship? A husband?”
“I have the best friends in the world for companionship and I get dick whenever I want it.”
She sputters a laugh and shakes her head. “I’ve had plenty of dick. I want a baby.”
“Then have one.”
“You make it sound easy.”
I don’t insult her by saying these days it can be, that she could adopt on her own. Surrogacy. All kinds of ways to become a mom. I know what I want and respect her enough to believe she knows what she wants, too.
“Look, my best friends both have kids and wouldn’t trade them for the world.” I swing back and forth in my chair and tip back. “I see why it works for them, but I also see very clearly why it wouldn’t work for me. Besides, I love being the rich auntie who gets to go home to my nice, quiet expensive apartment after spoiling their kids.”
“I come from a big family and have been the rich auntie for a long time,” she says with a wry smile. “I thought maybe that would be enough, but the closer I got to forty, the more I realized that for me, a family is essential.”
She glances down at the slim hands folded on her glass desk. “I thought I could have that with Maverick.”
“I was sorry to hear about the breakup,” I say, forcing myself not to look away from the raw pain on her face. No need to pretend I don’t know what the whole world seems to be talking about today on every gossip site and social media post.
“You read the announcement, huh?” She huffs out a bitter breath. “‘Mutual’ my ass. If there’s one man I knew would be the best father to my children and a wonderful husband, it was Maverick Bell. I knew that from the beginning. I would never have given that up, but he left me no choice.”
“Did he…” She’s going there , but I’m not sure how personal we should get. How much I should probe. “What happened?”
“He doesn’t want kids.” She rolls her eyes. “Correction. Any more kids. His daughter, Tamia, just graduated from high school, and he doesn’t want to start over with a new family at his age.”
I don’t reply because it sounds completely reasonable to me, but that’s the last thing Zere wants to hear.
“He did tell me from the beginning,” Zere admits, her eyes unfocused and filling with tears. “I knew, but there was this little voice in the back of my head that said I could change his mind. That he’d love me enough to choose me over…”
Over his own happiness?
I don’t say it aloud and neither does she, but it’s loud in the room. Is that love? Expecting him to become someone else for you? Forgo what that person knows will make them happy to be with you? Is that trade ever even?
“Well, enough about my love life.” Zere carefully swipes a rogue tear under her eye. “Or the recent lack thereof. Let’s talk about Chapel’s show.”
“Right.” I blow out a breath of relief, glad we’re changing the subject. “I’m ready to do this and so glad you see the same potential in her that I do.”
“As soon as she stepped on set, I saw what she could be. Her winning the contest just confirmed what I already knew. She’s a star.”
“She is indeed,” I agree.
“You’ve got a great eye for talent, Hendrix, and you’re a hustler.” Her eyes soften, and her expression looks lighter for the first time since the video call began. “We’re gonna do great things together.”
“I think so, too,” I reply with a smile. I clap my hands once. “Where do we start?”
The call, scheduled for thirty minutes, goes an hour. We both have so many ideas we end up brainstorming several approaches. We hang up and I barely have time to look over the list of contacts we prioritized before it’s time to leave for lunch with my Aspire team.
“Sorry I’m late,” I tell them when I rush into Paschal’s. “Got caught up in my last meeting.”
“Girl, you fine,” Nelly Brewer assures me, proffering her cheek for a kiss. “Sit down and take a deep breath.”
I am rather breathless. In addition to losing track of time, I got caught in some of Atlanta’s random-ass traffic in the middle of the day, which only stressed me more.
“You’re actually just in time.” My other partner, Kashawn Phillips, gestures to the table where a basket of corn muffins takes center stage alongside an order of voodoo shrimp to start us off.
“Now y’all know I’m trying to eat fewer fried foods,” I say, reaching for the battered shrimp. “Diabetes runs in my family and I do not need it running over here.”
“I got you, girl,” Nelly says. “Veggies. Fried green tomatoes.”
We laugh and I tell the server I’m fine with water.
“How are the kids?” I ask them both, pinging a look between the two of them.
“Giving me as much grief as I gave my mama.” Kashawn massages her temples. “Meryl decided she doesn’t want to go to college. Every step this child has taken since she was like five years old was toward an Ivy League education. We didn’t impose that on her. She wanted it, and now all of a sudden she’s gonna do what? Travel the world and post about it on social media?”
“Hey, don’t knock it,” I say. “My friend Yasmen’s daughter Deja will probably make more money as a hair influencer than most of the people in her class who go to college for a conventional degree. And you already know Soledad is getting that bag.”
“She has you to thank for that,” Kashawn says, reaching for another shrimp.
“I simply connected her with some brands looking for the kind of content she produces,” I say. “Soledad is a domestic beast. I love seeing one of my best friends flourish.”
I sip my water and nod toward Nelly. “And what about Gabriella?”
“Finally sleeping through the night.” She lifts her hands in hallelujah. “That’s what I get for marrying a woman half my age who wanted babies.”
“Beth’s not half your age,” I laugh. “She’s only ten years younger, and you know you love that baby more than life itself.”
“You right,” Nelly concedes. “But I didn’t see myself starting a family at fifty.”
She reaches into her purse and fishes out a pink mini fan, plopping it onto the table and turning it on to oscillate over her face.
“I’m literally in menopause,” Nelly mock sobs. “When they say it’s like fire shut up in your bones, I bet they meant hot flashes. Lemme tell you. Changing diapers while having hot flashes is not it. Why’d y’all let me do this mom thing this late?”
“You know you’d do it again for Beth,” I tell her. “Like come on, you’re so gone for that woman.”
“What we won’t do for love.” Kashawn sighs dreamily.
“Whatever,” Nelly grumbles, but she can’t hide the smile that creeps over her face or the sheer joy in her eyes every time she talks about Beth and the baby.
I can’t help but think of my earlier conversation with Zere.
“You’re happy, though, right?” I ask. “No regrets?”
“None,” Nelly replies without hesitation and pulls the fan closer to her face. “Ecstatic. I can’t imagine life without that lil’ stink bomb now.”
We order our food and get down to business while we wait for it to arrive. I never would have imagined I’d be in the venture capital space, but when Nelly, my soror and mentor, approached me about getting Aspire off the ground to help Black women entrepreneurs, it was an immediate yes.
“I hope we have a superstar founder in our second round like we did in the first,” Nelly says.
“Hue has surpassed every expectation,” I agree.
The fledgling cosmetic company’s hero product is a foundation designed for women of color. Lots of companies have been doing that lately, but this product uses AI to customize the absolute perfect match for your skin. It’s been getting massive media coverage and the sales to go with it.
“I have a feeling this’ll be our first unicorn,” Nelly says with a gleam of pride in her eyes.
A unicorn investment valued at a billion dollars is indeed rare, especially in the first round for a small fund like ours.
“We really need to play it up to potential limited partners,” Kashawn says. “Speaking of, anyone new we need to be pitching? Talking to?”
Maverick Bell flashes in my mind. He expressed some interest, but who knows if he was even serious. Maybe he’d had a few drinks by then. There was a literal line of people at the bar waiting to speak to him. He probably got pitched so many times that night, he won’t even remember our conversation.
Meanwhile I have replayed the brief exchange in my head several times. Not a sexy-flirty-I-wonder-if-I’ll-take-you-home kind of thing. I felt connected to him in a way that I haven’t with anyone else, specifically around Mama’s condition. Even in the midst of wall-to-wall partygoers, with music blasting and liquor flowing freely all around, he saw me. Recognized there was a part of me completely removed from that scene and anxious about my mother.
I remain quiet and fork Paschal’s famous greens into my mouth. If I breathed a word of Maverick Bell’s interest, my partners would pounce on it and force me to follow up. I can’t call that man. First of all, he was probably talking out the side of his neck. Making conversation. But even as I think it, I know the thoughtful man who shared his experience with his grandfather isn’t that cavalier.
My second reason for not wanting to reach out…
The memory of Zere’s pain this morning clamps down on even the thought that was forming. I can’t reach out to Maverick. Ever. That’s it. That’s all. End of story.
“I think we should host a showcase,” Nelly says. “Bring our best-performing round-one founders in along with prospective limited partners, and even those who have already committed. Leverage the success of round one to raise money for round two. We want to cast vision and make these rich folks feel comfortable trusting us with their money.”
“And we could have Hannah from Hue share how well things are going,” I add. “Her revenue is already bonkers. It’s an incredible return for her investors and a great track record for our fund.”
“Let’s do it.” Kashawn gulps down the last of her sweet tea. “My assistant can help organize it. She’ll call your offices to get the ball rolling.”
“I’m gonna order some of that 1947 chicken for Beth to go,” Nelly says. “She’s home with the baby. That’ll be a treat.”
“How’s she adjusting to not working?” I ask.
“It’s harder than she thought it would be,” Nelly says. “There’s a touch of postpartum. She may go back to work in a year or so, but right now, she just wants to focus completely on Gabby.”
“And is the firm being understanding about it?” Kashawn asks.
“Well, they say they are, but she was close to making partner when she got pregnant.” Nelly shrugs. “We all know the circus don’t stop for one mama.”
“Isn’t the saying the circus don’t stop for one monkey?” Kashawn laughs.
“Like I’m gon’ call the mother of my child a monkey.” Nelly sucks her teeth. “Shiiiit. Lemme get this chicken before she comes to her senses and realizes I don’t deserve her.”
Once we all have our to-go boxes, I reach for the bill, not surprised to find myself in a three-way tug-of-war with them to pay.
“It’s my turn, heifers,” I fake growl. “Y’all not gon’ block my blessings by not letting me pay.”
“There’s the church girl we know and love,” Nelly teases.
A breezy laugh slips past my lips. “We all know I’m far from the church girl. That’s my mama and Aunt Geneva.”
Some of the humor leaves their expressions, replaced by concern.
“How’s Mama Betty doing?” Kashawn queries.
Kashawn’s known my mother since college when Mama would visit me on campus at Georgia State. We were both on scholarship at a PWI trying to figure shit out in a space that seemed to at times only tolerate us. We experienced how being one of the few can drive you into the solace and safety of your community. I needed that level of support and acceptance for my survival.
“She’s fine.” I offer the folder with the bill and my card to the server. “You know how it is. I think she’s holding steady right now.”
No need to go into the latest drama from Saturday night. It was no worse than it’s been before with Mama. I’m simply still coming to terms with it not getting any better.
We walk to the parking lot and I head toward my Mercedes G wagon. Kashawn sashays to her BMW and Nelly unlocks her Range Rover. Atlanta really is that city where Black affluence thrives. We named our fund Aspire to reflect the hopes of our founders, but also the spirit of this city that has been an incubator for Black strivers and hustlers for decades.
I’m sleepy and heavy lidded, trying to shake off the itis when I get back to the office.
“Who loves you?” I ask Skipper, placing a small Styrofoam to-go container on her desk, which she opens with a squeal.
“Ooooh! Sweet potato cake from Paschal’s.” She does a little shimmy in her seat and licks frosting from the side of the dessert. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome,” I chuckle. “Oh, and could you send some flowers to Nelly’s wife?”
“Special occasion?”
“Special person.” I turn on my heel and head into my office. “Hold all my calls. I need to get through some of this work before that three o’clock with Paste .”
“Sure thing, boss,” she says around a hunk of cake.
I haven’t been back at my desk for more than three minutes when Skipper pokes her head through the door.
“Yes?” I ask, clinging to my patience.
“There’s a call for you,” she says, her eyes stretched wide.
“Did I not just say hold all calls?” I drop my head into my hands. “It better be important for you to interrupt when I’m trying to make some progress here.”
“It’s very important,” Skipper says on a rush of breath. “I mean, he’s very important.”
I lift my head slowly to meet her eyes, a frown gathering on my face. “Who is on the phone?”
“Oh, no one.” Skipper gulps and grins. “Just Maverick Bell.”