The cost of vengeance - [30]

“Okay, Jenna, start at the beginning and tell me everything that happened.”

“The event was at the Waldorf,” Jenna said excitedly.

“I know that, Jenna, I sent you. What happened?”

“He had an Astor suite there. When the event was over, he didn’t want me to leave right away because of how it would look. So he asked me to come up to the room and stay with him for about an hour.”

“Sensible.”

“I know. It was good thing that we did because just as we got to the room, one of the people that he works with and his wife got off the elevator. He grabbed me and pretended to kiss me until they went in their room.”

“Smart move on his part,” I said and hoped she would get to the part about him being dead soon, though I did ask her to start at the beginning.

“As soon as we got in the room, he went in the bathroom and shut the door. I sat down and watched TV. After about an hour I was getting ready to leave, so I knocked on the door. When he didn’t answer I opened the door. He was sitting on the toilet with his belt around his arm and a needle stuck in his arm. I think he OD’d.”

“Are you sure he was dead?”

“I shook him a few times and he didn’t move,” Jenna said.

“He may or may not be dead; he might have just been in a real heavy nod.”

“I didn’t check for a pulse, I just got outta there.”

“It’s okay, Jenna. Whether he’s dead or not, in either case, it will be all right. If he’s dead, tomorrow morning housekeeping will find him and that will be that. You didn’t take any pictures with him, did you?”

“No, not that I know of; but I left there so fast, I left my clutch bag in the room.”

“That’s not good,” I said and immediately found his cell number and tried to reach him. We needed to get that clutch because, other than the obvious reason, the clutch cost me $1,920.00. “He’s not answering.”

Jenna dropped her head. “Oh.”

“What?”

She reached in her cleavage and pulled out the room key. “After the people went in the room, he was just standing there, so I took the key from him and opened the door.”

I laughed. “And that’s where you put it?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah.”

“I guess we’re going to the Waldorf,” I said. And after a quick change of clothes: Dolce amp; Gabbana stretch wool suit with a notched collar, peak lapels, three flap pockets, and one slash pocket; Dolce amp; Gabbana suede covered pumps with a 5-inch heel, and a hidden 1-inch platform, we were on our way.

On the way there, I thought about drugs and Tangela House came to mind. After I saw Congressman Cantifield at Martin Marshall’s party, his assistant called me and I made arrangements to meet the congressman for lunch. Over lobster thermador and cocktails, I assured the congressman that I would be able to service all of his needs, and provide him with those services with the utmost discretion. The congressman agreed and we shook hands on our exclusive arrangement.

Then he started going on and on about how beautiful and charming Tangela was at Marshall’s party, and how he simply had to have her. “If she’s as good as she appears, my exclusive arrangement may just be for her, all the time.” Then he laughed. “Well almost all the time.”

Knowing that she had issues, I tried to convince him that she wasn’t quite the one, but he insisted. So against my better judgment and after a very long lecture: a warning not to blow it, I sent Tangela out on an appointment with my most important client. Thank goodness everything worked out fine that evening. But she was late for her next appointment and missed the one after that altogether.

When she finally resurfaced the next day, I met her for dinner at Bellavitae: an Italian restaurant on Minetta Lane, between 6^th Avenue and MacDougal Street. Over dinner, which, by the way, she merely picked at, Tangela explained why she had missed her appointment the night before.

“I can’t use you, Tangela, if I can’t depend on you,” I told her when she finished her fantastic story.

“I’m sorry, Jada. It won’t happen again,” Tangela promised and I signaled for the waiter.

“Check, please.” Once I paid the check I stood up. “I know it won’t happen again,” I said and walked out of Bellavitae. I heard that she hooked back up with Creme, and she got her a job dancing at whatever club she was working at.

It was after one in the morning when our cab arrived at the Waldorf. We took the elevator up the Patrick’s suite and approached the room. I took the key from Jenna and opened the door. She rushed in the room and grabbed the clutch, which was still on the coffee table. Jenna was on her way back to the door, but I had to have a look in the bathroom before I left. I opened the door slowly and peeked in. “Oh, excuse me,” I said and quickly closed the door. “Let’s go, Jenna.”

“Is he still there?”

“Oh, he’s in there. But he is far from dead,” I said as I walked toward the door, feeling a little a bit embarrassed about walking in on Patrick and his friend.

As I paid the driver and got out of the cab in front of my building, I took a minute to think about the fact that Mr. Black hadn’t returned my call. And even if he had, I would once again have to place him on the back burner to take care of business. As Jenna and I walked toward the elevator, I wondered if Mr. Black had even gotten my message. Was he in the arms of another woman?