It was past midnight when Elle arrived home, emotionally and physically spent. She was delighted to finally curl up in her own bed with a steaming mug of chamomile tea. While appreciating the warmth of both, it occurred to her that she’d be in Kinte's apartment tomorrow evening for the first time and began imagining the space. Then she released the thought, aware that he was impossible to pin down. Instead she chose to contemplate what she did know about him: the sanctuary he spun each time he wrapped his splendid arms around her; those extraordinary eyes which made her moist whenever she delved beyond their surface; and the always tantalizing tenderness of his touch. Elle finished her tea and nestled beneath the covers, intent on meeting Kinte in her dreams. Her plan was to sleep in; there wasn’t a single reason to get up early.
To her dismay, the downstairs buzzer interrupted her slumber just after 10AM, and it took a few moments before her feet connected with the floor. In a daze, she staggered down the hall, touching the walls to avoid falling on her face. The noisy intruder turned out to be her favorite FedEx guy announcing the arrival of an urgent package, and saying he needed her signature to authorize receipt. “Seriously?” she asked while pushing the talk button. “OK…I’m coming down.” She returned to the bedroom, grabbed a robe and met him at the bottom of the long staircase.
“Got an envelope for you,” he smiled, pushing his hardened-brick of a computer in her direction.
Elle grunted and scrawled her signature on the tiny electronic screen before accepting the package. Without her glasses, she squinted trying to focus on the envelope's upper left hand corner, which seemed to say New Castle, NY. She rubbed her eyes and took another careful look. It read Eaton Global Technology Group, Office of the General Counsel. Her breath vanished and she bolted up the stairs.
In her office, she took a seat in the beloved paisley chair, legs folded with the sealed reinforced envelope on her lap. For a few moments, she was wedged in a weird limbo, unable to move. Dear God, she prayed, please let it be over, while staring at the envelope for longer than made any damn sense. Then shifting her gaze to the letter opener on the desk, she closed her eyes, hoping to conjure the balls to grab the lapis handle and in the next moment, felt the cool, smooth stone in her hand. Eyes open now and her mind claiming she was prepared for the consequences; she used the tool's sharp edge to split the envelope apart.
There wasn’t much to the contents, less than ten sheets of paper including several signature pages. The official letter, signed by Powell with a co-signature from HR, called her claim ‘circumstantial’ and suggested that misunderstandings were the basis of said circumstance. Well there's a fuckin’ surprise. However, the letter included comments about recognizing her value to the organization and offering appropriate considerations. In the end, it seemed the managing dicks chose to avoid a public pissing match, even while implying that her grievance couldn’t be verified. Of course, there was a gag clause barring her from speaking about the allegations for the rest of her natural life; the printed euphemism was ‘non-disclosure.’ Well, that depends on y’all. As much as she dreaded the idea of cycling through internet and cable outlets to expose EGT's dubious offenses, she’d do it, all out. If she had to.
She skipped through the pages in search of the settlement details. Her first disappointment, Globetrotter was not offered. This rubbed the wrong way. Zero recognition for a prize rightfully hers. Bastards. Instead, the itemized elements of the award were assigned dollar values. Air travel, 8k. Hotel expenses at a thousand a day for ten days. Not bad. Meal vouchers, five thousand. And the original $50,000 cash component. OK, fuck it. I’ll take the cash. What's the total? Her eyes drifted through the numbers, Seventy-three grand. Hmmm, decent. A sliver of swag emerged and she flipped to the next page. So what about my commissions? Her eyes finally landed. A calculated commission of eighty-one grand based on her projected standing at the end of Q3. Now, that's what I’m talking ‘bout! Elle looked up. Wait? How do I confirm accuracy without matching it to a business register? She frowned then shook her head. To hell with that, I got bigger fish to fry. Her nerves were kicking in again. The money was one thing, a good thing. But EGT needed to stand up and do what's right. The greater good mattered most. Scanning further, an item labeled “Grant Request for TechGirlz” halted her gaze. She closed her eyes. God, please. Then peered at the page. There was a reference to the official application and a few key details. EGT reserved the right to select the Executive Director, blah blah, and the candidates she offered would be carefully vetted. The paragraph ended with the words, grant request approved.
Elle paused, letting it sink in. She didn’t own a computer until she was off to college, a component of her scholarship. These days that's way too late for any girl to develop an aptitude around how technology works. Those labeled disadvantaged were in dire need of access to technology, and they needed it early. TechGirlz was only a drop in the bucket, but it was a start. And that made her proud. Bowing her head for a moment, she whispered, ‘Thank you.”
Regarding her employment, she was given the option of remaining in her current position while seeking another opportunity in the company. The document stated that during her pursuit of other roles, she’d be held to the same performance standard as before. Wait. What's that mean? Stay on Ranjan's team? The thought of continuing to work for him made her want to slap somebody. There was no way she could tolerate him. Not one more day. She looked up from the document, drawing a deep breath. “I… I can’t stay,” she said aloud. The realization stunned her and she leaned back in the chair, the truth landing hard. She no longer fit there, if she ever had.
After filtering through the pages one more time, she placed them in order and laid the document on her desk. Then wrapping her arms around both knees and pulling them to her chin, she fixed a place to rest her cheek. For a few moments, Elle sat silent, allowing the knowledge to journey to the deepest part of her. That's when she felt it, the unmistakable thrill of victory, and the smallest hint of what the victory afforded.
Casting her eyes towards the blue enamel frame in the corner of her desk, Elle said, “I won mama,” her eyes filling with tears as she peered at the photo of Mama Jewell holding Peyton when he was a few hours old. “I’m…free.” She said the word again, “free,” a whisper this time. It was a hard–to-imagine kind of free. So she lingered in her prized chair, the echo of a smile signaling joy one moment and a simple expression of peace the next. Then closing her eyes and burying her face in the crook of her elbow, she prayed, grateful that throughout her forty-four years, no matter what painful challenge befell her, the Universe had never failed to have her back.
Elle had been awake for about an hour, without coffee. When she realized it, an almost desperate desire for caffeine presented itself. It was funny how she was just fine without coffee until becoming aware that she’d not had any. A tall mocha-latte with whip seemed the appropriate way to begin a day-long celebration, so she brushed her teeth, threw on a fleecy warm-up and strolled to the Starbucks a few blocks away. After getting a grande’ cup, she ducked into the nail salon on the corner where she sometimes got pedicures, hoping to get her feet scrubbed and smoothed without an appointment. They had an open slot and Elle grabbed a short stack of magazines from the table by the door and climbed into a large spa chair.
After a few moments of small talk with the nail tech, they settled on a color, and Elle slid her feet into the heated tub. Picking up her phone to silence the ringer, there was a text from Hilton that she’d missed.
Got the settlement package this morning. You ok with it?
I am.
May I call you?
Elle thought for a moment. I’d rather you didn’t.
Just want to clear the air. Please.
She sighed, tapped his name and the call launched.
“Elle,” he said, just as the ringing started.
“Hello.”
“Congrats on the settlement,” he said.
She smiled. “Thanks. And Hilton, you really came through for me. I appreciate it.”
“It's the least I could do,” he said. “After the way I…”
“Look,” Elle interrupted. “We were both young. Love, trust… all that stuff, what did we know? The blind leading the blind. I’m…over it,” she said, while kind of wondering if she was.
“I was an ass,” he said. “You didn’t deserve that. I was so afraid you’d hold me back. Keep me from rising. I’m deeply sorry. Really, I am.”
“Thank you.” Those words felt good.
“When I’m back in town, can we share a meal?”
She paused. “I…don’t know.”
“Elle please don’t close the door. “May I at least call?”
“You can call,” she said, before thanking him again and hanging up.
Of course, she’d need to share the news with her girls and Liam. But for now, she just wanted a few moments of peace, quiet contemplation and fabulous painted toes. Plus, it was clear that Liam had greased the skids and perhaps already knew the outcome.
Elle took a cleansing breath and leaned back in the chair. She fiddled with the massage buttons until large metal spheres vibrated up and down her spine. For a few moments, she pressed her back against the rolling balls, appreciating the intensity. Then she flipped through the stack of reading materials, examining her choices.
First was a copy of Women's Health. But she’d devoured this issue last month and placed it on the tiny table beside her. Next was Country Living, it's cover depicting a huge room with a speckled stone fireplace and couches swathed in deep green vines; uh — no, never! She plopped it on top of the first magazine. Last in her hands, a thick and glossy Travel and Leisure— The Style and Culture Issue. The exquisite cover sent her flipping to the contents page where she located the heading ‘Our Cover Shot’ and read; A view of the Louvre and the Tuileries from Rue de Rivoli, in Paris's First Arrondissement. Turning back to the shiny photo, she stared again at the stunning grey stone structures and pondered the caption with increased interest, A view of the Louvre. Pulling back she expanded her perspective. Which building is it? What a disappointment not to know. And Rue de Rivoli? There were several streets in the picture but the words on the signs were infinitesimal, so she was clueless there as well. And for real, what the hell was a Tuilerie?
At once, Elle felt small town. You’d think as old as she was, she’d know something about Paris or at least have an idea what the Louvre looked like. Just then, a bold directive burst into her head. It was in-your-face clear, like a bell which rang a single, perfect note. Go to Paris. What? Elle looked around as if to catch whoever had crept up and whispered in her ear. Of course, there was no one. Glancing down at the cover once more, she nodded, yes, Paris.
Once her toes were dry and wrapped in clear saran to avoid smudges, Elle slipped on her knit Uggs and headed home. On the way, she passed the local gourmet shop and considered what she might add to dinner. Stopping, she texted Kinte.
Hey babe, can I bring something 2nite?
His instant reply, Just your sexy self.
What time?
Appetizers at 6.
Elle snickered at the notion of appetizers.
She texted back, Sure there's nothing you need? Wine? Vodka?
1 thing. He replied. Pack a bag? Stay the night?
Elle's eyes widened and she looked away, startled by the request. She expected their evening to end with intimacy and truth told; her plan was to push the interaction further than before, meaning to discover hidden details of his gorgeous body and allowing her lips and tongue to taste and explore areas they hadn’t. Still, the idea of spending the night prompted a pit to rise in her stomach. Perhaps because she’d spent endless weekends in Darien's bed only to be banished following the return of his wife. The pit swelled to a fist and Elle laid her hand on her belly. She knew there was a truck load of baggage dumped on her front step and it was too huge not to bang into. Her shins or toes would be scraped and bloodied from time to time, but she hoped to muster the means to avoid stumbling over the mess and smacking her face on the cold, hard concrete.
Even so, she wasn’t ready to select a bed for the night. She’d at least want to make sure he had coffee in the house, and that his idea of an appropriate place to sleep wasn’t a lumpy futon left over from college.
So she typed. Can we play it by ear? Wishing she could see his face when he read it.
Her phone chirped. No worries cutie, it's all easy.
When Elle got home, she called EGT's limo service and ordered a car to take her to Chicago's East Loop neighborhood. Still employed by the company, she couldn’t think of a reason not to abuse the privilege of rolling in one of their gleaming Benzes one last time. The driver, an old man with a long thick ponytail of muddled dreadlocks, picked her up at 5:15 and they chatted all the way to the city.
She arrived at Kinte's address and gave the driver a fat ass tip. Situated just south of the Chicago River, the building was a merge of blue glass and steel shooting into the sky some forty plus stories. Not the typical post-college apartment.
After stepping from the elevator on the 32nd floor, she looked for a sign pointing in the right direction and strode down the hallway. It ended with a floor-to-ceiling mirror and Elle stopped for a last-minute inspection. In her sleek, black, J Brand leggings, a blush cashmere turtleneck and an ultra-soft lambskin jacket, she felt sexy and super-confident. She adored the lambskin and had owned the politically-incorrect leather for almost a decade. Wearing it always reminded her of the time her mama was chastised by an animal activist outside church one day before Sunday service. Mama Jewell had waited and listened while the young woman explained that the unethical treatment of animals had led to the creation of the cherished mink swing-coat draped around her mama's shoulders. Then Jewell said, honey, this coat was on lay away for four years, so these mink been dead a long time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got to get to my seat.
Though the biker-inspired jacket was one of Elle's favorite pieces; in this day and age her conscience wouldn’t have allowed her to buy it. But she understood the point her mama was making and launched a wide smile, tickled by the memory of the stylish, imperfect, extraordinary woman who’d raised her.
Now outside Kinte's door, Elle paused and took a breath, then knocked. Within the moment, the door cracked open.
“Hey you,” Kinte beamed, pulling her inside. He was dressed in loose-fitting draw-string pants and matching pullover; both made from a fine, lightweight wool. Taking the potted calla lily from her hands, he asked, “For me?”
She nodded, grinning, as he placed the plant on a nearby countertop.
“Thank you,” he said, gathering her in his arms and drawing her near. Thrilled to see him, she pressed her cheek to his and let out a long, slow sigh. For a few seconds, they held on.
He noticed the embossed-leather tote looped around her arm. “Let me take this for you,” he said, as a wry smile emerged.
Elle felt embarrassed since she’d made no commitment to spend the night. “Just in case?” she said.
He winked. “Like I said baby, it's all easy.”
Soothed by his laid-back attitude, she smiled as he helped her out of her jacket, placing it and the tote in a hall closet.
Walking into the space, she looked around. It had the feeling of a loft. There was no exposed brick; instead, the length of the room showcased a row of windows and the walls were the plastered and painted variety. The modern hard-wood floors were a deep grey. But the most interesting design point was a huge slab of raw concrete, severe and masculine, stretched overhead from end to end.
“A tour?” he asked, stroking her arm.
‘Love it.”
Taking her by the hand, Kinte guided her around the meticulous apartment. There was a tiny den, which he called the music room; a second bedroom filled with free weights and other apparatus; and a primary bedroom which confirmed that he did not sleep on a lumpy futon, but in a large king-size bed with high, padded headboard.
Back in the living room, Elle sat at the granite island which marked the start of the kitchen.
“What you drinking?” Kinte asked.
“A glass of water first, with lemon please…but what else you got?”
“Pretty much whatever you like,” he said, getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water from the refrigerator door, then opening it to grab a lemon. “There's wine and cognac, vodka or gin, beer…even whiskey.”
“Damn, not all for me, I take it.”
He grinned. “My boys come through pretty regular. We watch a lot of sports and talk a lot of trash. I like to keep the basics stocked.”
“I see.” Then giggling, she added, “I’ve got something to tell you.”
He was at the fridge again taking out a pan of new potatoes. “Spill it,” he said.
While squeezing lemon juice into her glass, she shared the update regarding Eaton Global Tech, offering details of how it went down and a summary of the settlement. The story told, she ended, “Not a king's ransom…but enough for me to take a beat. You know, figure out where to go from here.”
Kinte had stopped what he was doing to watch her speak, delight showing from behind his beautiful eyes. “Nice job, baby,” he said, then leaned over to kiss her.
The slight brush of his lips tipped her balance and she steadied herself on the stool. “There's more,” she said.
He was standing by the oven now, the pan of seasoned potatoes in his hand. “Yeah….well?”
She grinned. “I’m going to Paris.”
He slid the potatoes into the oven and closed the door. “Texas or France?”
“France.”
Kinte didn’t speak for a few seconds. Then raising his eyebrows, he asked, “You planning on coming back?”
Laughing out loud, Elle shifted in the chair. “Of course….silly.”
“Well, cool,” he said. “Go on and do your thing, grasshopper.”
She leaned her head to one side. “Grasshopper?”
He nodded, a big grin splashed across his face.
She got up, rounded the counter into the kitchen and asked for a cocktail shaker. He pointed to the cupboard and she found the shaker, filling it with ice. Now at the sink, she brushed up next to him.
“So you watched reruns of Kung Fu when you were a kid, huh?”
“Kung Fu?” He’d just begun dusting a plate of cod with herbs and spices.
“Yeah, Kung Fu. You know…David Carradine…Master Po….Grasshopper?”
Glancing at her, he frowned. “I’m unfamiliar.”
“Then why did you call me grasshopper?”
“You remind me of one.” He grunted a laugh cut short.
Her face was close to his now and she admired the contours of his lips as she spoke, “Really…my legs ain’t that damn skinny.”
Looking down, he feigned an inspection of her legs and she jabbed him in his side.
“Well,” he started, “when a grasshopper flies…he never knows where he's gonna land.” He touched his finger to her chin just once.
Elle snickered a little. Then biting her bottom lip she peered into his face, before looking away.
Kinte had spoken an insightful truth. Over the past few months, Elle's world was turned every which way but loose, forcing her to pull up stakes and walk away from a man she’d loved deeply, and to end a long career that’d shaped her sense of power and accomplishment.
In the fifth decade of life, here she was, destined to begin again. She’d lost her footing along the way for sure, but sensed the ground was firming now. Still, without a job or even a plan, it was difficult to imagine where she might eventually set down. And that was alright with her. Because for all the uncertainty that existed in her life, one thing was clear beyond any doubt— she damn sure loved to fly.