Lovers & Players

  Liberty had not had a chance to talk to her mom. The night before, Diahann had rushed in, changed the dressing on her arm, fixed her a cup of vegetable broth and hurried back upstairs to prepare Mr Diamond’s dinner. By the time she came back downstairs, Liberty was already asleep.

  Typical, Liberty thought sourly. As usual, Mr Diamond comes first. It had been that way ever since they’d moved into the house.

  Now, checking out The View on TV, she almost fell off the couch when they announced that one of their upcoming guests was Princess Tashmir Donnell, wife of hip-hop mogul, Damon P. Donnell.

  Damn! What in crap’s name was Damon’s wife doing on TV? He was the star of the family.

  She sat up straight, eyes fixed firmly on the screen. Man, this was not her week. If Tashmir turned out to be a singer, that would really put her over the edge.

  However, when Tashmir Donnell sashayed onto the screen, quite exotic in an Indian princess kind of way, it turned out that the woman was peddling a line of jewellery.

  Ha! Liberty thought. Damon’s wife selling jewellery. How low down is that?

  Lined up on a table in front of the four hosts of The View was an outrageous array of necklaces, rings and earrings, all studded with rubies, diamonds and emeralds.

  Like anybody can afford that shit, Liberty thought, still glued to the screen.

  After a few moments of idle chat, Joy Behar got right down to it. ‘How much does this little bauble run?’ she inquired, picking up a magnificent necklace and dangling it in front of the camera.

  ‘Oh, that,’ Tashmir answered vaguely. ‘Eight or nine.’

  ‘Hundred?’ questioned Meredith Viera, leaning forward in her chair.

  ‘Thousand,’ said Tashmir, smugly.

  After gasps from the audience and more jewellery questions, Star Jones got down to the real nitty-gritty and asked what it was like being the wife of Damon P. Donnell.

  Tashmir, who was clad in a gold and purple sari and projected a gracious if somewhat phoney manner, said, ‘My husband keeps me very busy. Damon is Mr Energy. I merely trail along behind him trying to keep up.’

  I bet, Liberty thought. You trail along behind him after you skip out of your three-room closet in your multi-million-dollar apartment and jump into your customized royal blue Bentley.

  She hated her. But that wasn’t right, was it? How could she hate someone she didn’t even know just because Tashmir was married to the man who could do something for her career? Hmm…that was if he ever cared to notice her existence.

  Then she thought, What career? Here she was, stuck in Mama’s apartment. How pathetic was that?

  Anyway, all she did was serve the man eggs and pour him coffee. It wasn’t as if he’d ever heard her sing, so why should he notice her? As far as he was concerned she was a waitress. A server. He probably didn’t even realize she was missing.

  Abruptly she picked up the remote and switched off the TV. Why go through the torture? Watching Princess Phoney wasn’t making her feel any better about herself.

  A few minutes later Diahann walked in. ‘How’re you feeling?’ she asked, picking up a blanket from the floor.

  ‘Crappy,’ Liberty answered irritably, staring at her mother, who could have been quite beautiful if she would only take the time to fix herself up and lose a few pounds. ‘My arm’s still throbbing a bit, although my ankle’s stronger. At least I can walk on it.’ She shot Diahann a wary glance. ‘Don’t worry, Mama, I’ll be out of here by Monday for sure.’

  ‘No rush,’ Diahann said, plumping up a cushion. ‘I like having you here.’

  ‘Sure you do. Littering up your couch, screwing up your weekend. Bet you’re thrilled.’

  ‘Cindi said that if you’re feeling okay, she’ll pick you up before work on Monday,’ Diahann said, removing a couple of empty glasses from the small coffee-table in front of the couch. ‘Isn’t your boyfriend due back then?’

  ‘Yeah, Kev’ll be back late that night.’

  ‘Maybe I can meet him.’

  ‘Why?’ Liberty shot back, her green eyes narrowing. ‘It’s not as if I’m marrying the dude.’

  ‘You’ve been seeing him a while, haven’t you?’

  ‘Hey,’ Liberty said belligerently, not about to get into a discussion about her boyfriend, ‘if this is question time, maybe I can get a few in.’

  Here we go, Diahann thought, taking a long, deep breath to prepare herself. ‘Of course,’ she said, remaining calm. ‘I was hoping we could talk.’

  ‘You were?’ Liberty said disbelievingly.

  ‘Yes. It feels as if I hardly see you anymore.’

  ‘Not my fault.’

  ‘Well,’ Diahann said, treading carefully, for she didn’t want to upset her daughter, ‘you did cancel the last two times we were supposed to get together.’

  ‘I’ve been busy.’

  ‘I understand, but—’

  ‘Mama,’ Liberty interrupted, determined that today she was going to find out the truth. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you told me who my father is? I can’t go on pretending it doesn’t matter, and that we’re never gonna talk about it. Surely you understand–I need to know.’

  There. She’d said it. Now it was up to her mom.

  Diahann sat down on the edge of the couch and gave a deep sigh. ‘There’s a reason I’ve never told you, Libby,’ she said, biting down on her bottom lip. ‘It’s…difficult.’

  ‘How difficult can it be, Mama? I have a right to know.’

  Diahann nodded quietly.

  ‘For the longest time I thought it might be Leon,’ Liberty continued. ‘Then I got it–how could it be? His skin’s too dark, like yours. So then I got to thinking–what am I? Black, like you’ve always told me? Half white? What am I, Mama? You can’t go on hiding things from me. I’m nineteen. You know it’s time.’

  ‘I was even younger than you when I left home.’

  ‘I’ve heard that story a thousand times,’ Liberty said impatiently.

  ‘There I was–getting off the bus in New York with two hundred dollars in my pocket and a ton of ambition,’ Diahann said, sighing ruefully. ‘Seventeen, an’ imagining I’d be the next Anita Baker.’

  ‘You could’ve been if you’d kept at it.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you could,’ Liberty insisted. ‘You’re a real good singer. That’s a talent nobody can take away.’

  ‘But I wasn’t good enough.’

  ‘Why you always gotta put yourself down?’ Liberty said, exasperated. ‘I can remember you sneaking me into that jazz club you used to sing at, and you sounded amazing.’

  ‘What did you know? You were a baby–seven, eight years old.’

  ‘Hey, where do you think I got my talent?’

  ‘It never happened for me, Libby,’ Diahann said flatly.

  ‘That’s ’cause you gave it up.’

  ‘No. It gave me up. After many years of slogging away in nightclubs an’ recording studios I was forced to realize that I wasn’t gonna make it. Besides, I had you to think of.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Liberty said sharply. ‘I didn’t ask to be born.’

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant. I always loved you, Libby, but after a while things got too hard. You were coming up to your ninth birthday, an’ one morning I woke up an’ knew we needed to get us some kind of real security, not a month-to-month struggle where I wasn’t even sure I could make the rent.’

  ‘Then how come you didn’t marry one of your boyfriends? As far as I remember you had plenty.’

  ‘Yes, there were plenty, an’ every damn one of them turned out to be a loser. The offer of a steady job was too good to pass up, so I took it, and the only time I’ve regretted it was when I was forced to send you to live at my sister’s place.’

  ‘’Cause of Mr Diamond,’ Liberty said flatly. ‘’Cause the mean old bastard wanted me gone.’

  ‘Mr Diamond warned me when he hired me that he wouldn’t tolerate having a child around. I promised to
keep you out of sight.’

  ‘Great! The invisible kid.’

  ‘You were a wild thing, Libby. I couldn’t watch you every second. Any chance you got you roamed all over the house.’

  ‘Hey, Mama, that’s about all I had to do,’ Liberty said heatedly. ‘We were living in the wrong neighbourhood. You dragged me away from all my friends, sent me to some fancy new school where they never accepted me.’

  ‘The day Mr Diamond discovered you sleeping on his bed he was furious. There was nothing I could do.’

  ‘Yes, there was,’ Liberty said, eyes blazing. ‘You could’ve quit your job.’

  ‘Aren’t you listening to me? We needed the money. How would you have managed if you’d had a child to support and a career going nowhere?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have taken a job as a maid,’ Liberty shot back accusingly.

  ‘Housekeeper.’

  ‘Housekeeper, maid, what’s the difference? I would’ve made it…somehow.’

  ‘I did what I could,’ Diahann said softly. ‘I sent Aretha money every week for your upkeep, and since you seemed happy there with your cousin, I didn’t insist on you coming back, ’cause after a while I got Mr Diamond to agree that you could.’

  ‘Aretha never told me you sent money.’

  ‘Surely you didn’t imagine I’d abandoned you altogether? Who do you think paid for your singing and dancing lessons?’

  ‘I…I didn’t think. Aretha never mentioned it.’

  ‘She wouldn’t. Aretha liked being your mama instead of me.’ A long pause. ‘You got any idea how I felt all those Sundays when I came to visit and you all treated me as if I was an intruder?’

  ‘I suppose it must’ve been hard,’ Liberty said, reluctant to give her mom any credit.

  ‘Believe me, it was.’

  ‘So,’ Liberty ventured, ‘about my dad…was he one of your losers? Is that why you’ve never told me about him?’

  ‘No,’ Diahann said. ‘He wasn’t a loser.’

  ‘Then who was he?’ Liberty asked, her voice rising. ‘Why won’t you tell me?’

  ‘The truth is I hardly knew him.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I was eighteen, touring in Europe, singing back-up for Isaac Hayes.’

  ‘You never told me you were in Europe,’ Liberty said accusingly.

  ‘I can remember thinkin’, this is it–my career is finally takin’ off,’ Diahann said. She hesitated a moment, then continued: ‘One night in Berlin I met a drummer at a studio session. He was a handsome guy–German mother, black father. He was funny an’ nice, an’ we ended up spending the night together.’

  ‘Yes?’ Liberty asked, hanging on every word.

  ‘The next day the tour left Berlin,’ Diahann said, turning away. ‘A few weeks later I discovered I was pregnant.’

  ‘With me,’ Liberty stated.

  ‘Yes, with you.’ Another long, deep sigh. ‘I was so scared. I tried to contact him, but it was too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’

  ‘There’s a reason I never wanted to tell you, Libby.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘I…I found out he was killed in a car crash the day after I left Germany.’

  ‘You–you mean he’s dead?’ Liberty stammered, her head spinning. ‘My father’s dead? Is that what you’ve been hiding from me all these years? He’s dead!’

  ‘I’m so sorry, baby,’ Diahann said, attempting to take her daughter’s hand.

  ‘Oh, my God, Mama!’ Liberty said, snatching her hand away. ‘How come you kept it from me all these years?’

  ‘Do you think it’s easy telling you you’re the result of a one-night stand? I wanted more for you, baby. I honestly believed it was better if you didn’t know.’

  Liberty’s green eyes blazed with anger. ‘That was my choice, not yours,’ she cried.

  ‘You’re right,’ Diahann said quietly, bowing her head.

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘It’s not important.’

  ‘Maybe not to you,’ Liberty fired back.

  Another long pause. ‘Mervyn.’

  ‘Mervyn what?’

  ‘Brown.’

  Mervyn Brown. At least she now knew the name of the man who’d fathered her. And Mama had kept it a secret all this time. It wasn’t fair, she should have been told years ago.

  ‘What did he look like?’ she asked, forcing herself not to cry.

  ‘I told you, he was a good-lookin’ man.’

  Liberty was silent for a while, trying to digest all this unexpected information. Yes, she had a father. A dead father.

  ‘I want to see a photo of him,’ she said at last.

  ‘I’m sorry…’

  ‘C’mon,’ Liberty said, suddenly more angry than anything else. ‘No photo, nothing.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Stop saying that.’

  Diahann shrugged helplessly.

  ‘He must’ve had a family,’ Liberty said, stomach churning. ‘Did you even tell them about me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The man was married, Libby. Married.’

  ‘Oh, this is just getting better and better.’

  ‘I felt his family had enough grief to deal with. How could I add to it?’

  ‘Jesus, Mama, they’re my family too,’ Liberty cried, holding back tears of frustration and longing. ‘This means I have grandparents. I should try to reach them.’

  ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  ‘Why not?’ she asked angrily. ‘Why the hell not?’

  ‘Cause if you want to know the whole story I did phone them.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They called me a black American whore and warned me never to contact them again.’

  ‘Oh, God!’

  ‘So now you know. There’s nothing more I can tell you.’

  Liberty shook her head in disbelief. She felt empty inside. Somehow she’d always believed in the fairy-tale that somewhere out there was a man who would claim her as his, a man who would love her and nurture her and be proud to call her his daughter.

  Now that dream was truly shattered.

  Damnit, she was not going to let it get her down. One way or another, she would make a success of her life. Nothing and nobody was going to stop her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They stood on the sidewalk outside Red Diamond’s house, three brothers wondering what kind of game their father was playing now.

  ‘I have to go,’ Max said impatiently, cracking his knuckles. ‘Call my assistant, she’ll give you the details for tonight.’

  ‘Wanna do lunch?’ Jett asked Chris, as soon as Max had taken off.

  ‘I got calls to make, people to see,’ Chris said, worrying about what he was going to tell Roth Giagante, who was waiting–not so patiently–in Vegas. Then, seeing the disappointed look on his brother’s face, he decided it wouldn’t kill him to spend time with the kid because the truth of the matter was that, as far as family was concerned, Max and Jett were about it. That’s if he didn’t count Red, and why would he? Red had never given a damn about anyone but himself. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘meet me at The Four Seasons around one. We’ll grab a bite in the restaurant. Then I have to drop by Birdy Marvel’s.’

  ‘The Birdy Marvel?’ Jett said, impressed.

  ‘She’s a client.’

  ‘Man, she’s hot.’

  ‘I can tell you haven’t changed,’ Chris said, laughing. ‘It’s all about pussy.’

  ‘As a matter of fact I have changed,’ Jett said, suddenly serious. ‘Last night I met a girl—’

  ‘You can tell me about it later,’ Chris said, sprinting to the kerb and waving down a passing cab. ‘Right now I gotta go make some calls.’

  Jett watched as Chris jumped into the cab and took off. It was good to see him again, Chris had always been the brother he was closest to, and now that he was back in New York maybe they could spend more time together. Yeah, two brothe
rs hanging out. Why not?

  As he started walking down the street his cell rang. He checked out the caller ID. It was Gianna.

  Hmm…he’d all but forgotten about his Italian supermodel and her magnificent blow-jobs.

  ‘Ciao, bello!’ Gianna cooed, sounding her usual upbeat self. ‘Why you no phone yesterday when you arrive?’

  Already he was in trouble, yet it hadn’t even crossed his mind that she expected him to check in.

  ‘How you doin’, baby?’ he said, reminding himself that she was kind of his steady girlfriend, although it was totally out of character for Gianna to act clingy.

  ‘Perfectto!’ Gianna purred.

  ‘Glad you’re having fun without me.’

  ‘Listen, carino,’ Gianna continued, in her low-down throaty voice, ‘I tell you something good.’

  ‘Hey,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m always into hearing something good.’

  ‘A big job. You and me. Together. My agent, he–how you say?–negotiate bene. I fly New York Sunday. Monday we do fittings. Tuesday we do print ads for the new Courtenelli collection. Sofia Courtenelli request me, and I suggest you. They ask for Mark Vanderloo or Brad Kroenig, but I say no, you.’ She paused triumphantly. ‘So you see, is molto bene. Capische?’

  Oh, he understood all right. Gianna was coming to New York. And what was he supposed to do about that?

  Max headed straight for his office where he was shocked and angry to discover Vladimir Bushkin lurking in the reception area. Didn’t he have enough problems? Now this low-life was there–for what? More money? He’d paid him plenty to keep his blackmailing mouth shut.

  Ignoring the man, he stalked into his private domain, slamming the door behind him.

  Mrs Barley buzzed him immediately. ‘There’s a Mr Bushkin waiting out here,’ she said, sounding flustered. ‘He doesn’t have an appointment, but he’s most insistent.’

  ‘I’m sure he is.’

  ‘Will you see him, Mr Diamond?’

  Did he have a choice? ‘Send him in,’ he said gruffly.

  A few seconds later Vladimir slunk into the room, like the slimy rat he was. Unshaven, with shifty eyes, the Russian man sat down uninvited.

  Max was in no mood to put up with more greedy demands. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.