11
Adrian
Three hours later Ipushed open the black double doors to my grandfather’s office. I came to a stop inside the door. My hands turned sweaty. At the round table with the killer view of New York sat my mother.
They’ve brought extra ammunition.
“Adrian, I am so glad you are back,” my mother said, oozing charm. She stood up with outstretched arms and I walked into her embrace.
“Mother, you just saw me in Nassau.”
“Barely,” she replied through clenched teeth with a hard smile.
My grandfather and father offered no greetings. I followed their example and took my seat at the table.
“Why have I been summoned?” I wasted no time asking.
“Anxious,” my father said.
“Perhaps he’s already sensed the true nature of this meeting,” my grandfather added.
“Am I correct in my assessment? Is the sky falling?” My sweaty hands gripped the edge of the table.
God, don’t let them do it.
“What do you know about Nina Rolle?”
My neck snapped back like a doll with a spring neck.
No preliminaries here. I see.
I stared them down in turn. My grandfather’s eyes did not waver, hard as flint. My father’s eyes shaped so much like my own, reflected anger. My mother glared at me, her blue eyes, two points of bright, evil flares.
“I know what I need to know,” I said, my voice devoid of the emotion rolling through me. I refused to let the waves of anger roiling in the pit of my stomach bubble out through my parched throat and mouth.
I refuse to sweat beneath their watching eyes.
“Adrian, did I raise you to be na?ve?” my mother asked, disdain gushing from her.
“Did you raise me, Mother, or was it the boarding schools who raised me?”
“Your mother and father wanted what was best for you. The best boarding schools, your world travels, your education were all possible because of this family’s position and wealth. Now you are ready to throw it all away. For what?” My grandfather said this in his booming cultured voice. His eyes pinned me in place and dared me to deny what he’d said.
“You are all right. I am eternally grateful to have been born into this great family, this great wealth, this great law firm. But what are we discussing here? You asked me what I know about Nina Rolle. Mother hired her. She must know.”
“We know about her. We want to know what you know,” my grandfather said.
“I don’t have to tell you what you already know,” I said.
They were getting under my skin. Riling me up.
“All right then,” my grandfather said and pulled open the drawer on his side of the table. I’d seen him do this intimidating maneuver several times to throw the other side off guard. I braced myself. Under the table I fisted my hands and curled my toes.
“In this envelope is what you need to know about Nina. We around the table have reviewed the information and we have determined Nina Rolle is not fit to take a place at your side. She is not a contender to be your wife. Adrian, you had over twenty-five women of high caliber at your celebration party on Saturday night. Yet you chose to spend the last couple days cavorting with the help.”
“She’s not the help,” I shouted. “She’s a university-trained, qualified pastry chef. She’s worked in the best restaurants and hotels. That’s how mother found her.”
“You don’t even care to know this girl,” my grandfather fired off.
He opened the envelope and laid out pictures of Nina. Personal photos. Nina alone. Nina with two other people. Nina with her cousins. A smiling Nina. Nina in a carnival costume.
Where did they get these photos? Were they on her IG, her FB page? Who would put out her photos?
I stood. My legs trembled like the floor beneath me had its own private earthquake. I leaned on the table with my shaky hands to give me some support. My stomach clenched tight. Their faces faded before me. I saw white, then red, then black.
“You are all despicable,” I spat out. I looked at each of them again.
“Despicable.”
My mother laughed.
“What would your audience think of you, Mother? Queen of daytime courtroom. Ah, answer me, what would they think of you? Digging up dirt from Nina’s college days.”
“I raised a na?ve son,” she said and pressed her lips tight into a grimace, breaking eye contact with me.
“You ordered an investigator to do this?”
“Yes, to bring you to your senses,” she snapped, scolding me, her face stony with disapproval.
“She’s good enough to do your pastry. But not good enough, for your son, to be your future daughter-in-law.”
My mother clapped and gave a too-bright smile. “You are one hundred percent correct.”
“I am done. You are beyond contemptible. You are beyond redemption.”
“Sit down, Adrian. Sit down,” my grandfather commanded.
It rubbed me the wrong way.
I sat back in my seat. A deep sense of despair washed through me. My skin tingled with chills, which left millions of goosebumps popping their little bulbous heads on every inch of my skin.
They want to break me.
“Listen good. You have a hundred million dollars on the line to start your foundations. We don’t agree with the objectives, but it will bring great publicity to the firm and the family. To acquire the money, we stipulated two conditions: choose a wife; and do a familiarization tour to all our offices around the world in twelve months. We have reviewed the conditions and decided to reduce the time to six months.”
“You have six months, Adrian. Six months. And don’t you think of even considering Nina Rolle as a future Mrs. Adrian Watkins-Williams the fourth.” During his delivery he tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling, his chin jutting, letting out a heavy sigh on his last word.
I didn’t disappoint them with my reaction.
I stood up and threw the chair behind me to the ground.
“All of you are racists. You, grandfather, and father dearest, have all these airs about this great law firm. About this great family. About all this generational wealth. It was acquired on the backs of slaves. Yes, I found out our ancestors were slave owners. All of this on the backs of slaves.” I barely kept control of myself as they rolled their eyes at my statement.
“Both families. Watkins and Williams. It’s my main reason for supporting the reparations movement. It’s the reason I want to support young black writers. I am going to establish and support these causes with or without your hundred million dollars. I, Adrian the fourth, will atone for the sins of my forebears.” I grew hoarse by the end of my tirade. I left the room before any of them had the time to recover from my outburst.
But not fast enough to cut off their loud laughter.
****
I marched to my officeand slammed the door behind me. It rattled on its hinges.
Good.
It should break.
Like my spirit is breaking.
I tapped Jacob’s name on my desk phone.
“You’re back,” he answered.
“They brought me back, I am sure you already know.”
My rage subsided and feelings of frustration and annoyance took over.
“Why?”
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
“To read me the riot act.”
“What have you done now?”
“They don’t want me cavorting with the help. And they used those very words. Can you believe in the twenty-first century they are using such misogynistic words?”
“Was it grandfather who said it?”
“Yes, but they all said it in various shades.”
“Do you know what they did? They ordered an investigation into Nina.”
“Nina. Yes. You are into her,” he said, his tone low and indistinct.
“What’s with your tone?”
“What tone?”
“Not you too,” I said, running my free hand through my hair, like a rabbit on steroids.
“I’m on your side, okay? I’m your boy. Always on your side. I know you like Nina. I know you’ve been spending all your time with her. I know it’s the real reason why you didn’t come back to New York before now. I’m also the only one who knew about Aimee.” His voice dipped low on the last sentence in a conspiratorial whisper.
“I’m sorry for my earlier snap.”
“Is this another Aimee?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.
“What do you mean?”
“You gave Aimee your heart, but you kept her a secret.”
I went silent. My dearest cousin had pierced me to the core.
“Can you meet me for an early dinner in twenty minutes at La Vue?”
“Okay. Anything for you. See you in twenty.”
I smiled as the call ended. The smile died when I looked up to find my mother framed in my doorway. The picture of perfection. Her hair pulled back in her usual roll at the nape of her long neck. Her red fitted knee-length dress screamed power. Accessorized jewels from Harry Winston, bag from Hermes and shoes from Manalo Blahnik. No one does perfection like my mother. I was sure she came to my office to turn the last perfect screw into me.
“Adrian, we are counting on you to make the best decision. Your destiny is to be in place to take over this great law firm. Your destiny is to produce the next Adrian the fifth. We gave you the best education and best experiences. We expect you to use them.” Her face was hard, icy. She left before I could respond.
I grabbed my phone and raced to the elevator, calling out greetings as I went. I needed to get out of the Watkins and Williams building.
Your destiny is to produce the next Adrian the fifth, my mother had said.
Nina had asked me a similar question. She’d called it.
What am I going to do?
I recalled the information in that dossier. That wasn’t Nina. But it made me wonder who she really was. Why did everything have to be so hard? I wanted to fight for Nina. I would do anything to keep her from slipping away.
But I wondered if I was strong enough.