Easier Said Than Done
(Sample Chapter)Chapter 1
Nothing would be the same again.
That I knew for sure, though the uncertainty
of what exactly that meant sloshed inside of me as
I unlocked the door to my office and I quietly asked
my mother for guidance. Instantaneously a peace
settled comfortably in my soul, just as I knew it
would but the question marks still pricked at my brain.
Three hours later my secretary alerted me via the intercom
that I had a phone call
and the feelings of unrest surged again. I picked up the receiver.
“Gaddammit! Job well done, Kingston.”
The booming voice filled the room, seeping like honey from the gray
and black state-of-the-art speakerphone.
It slowly spread to each corner in my small office and coated the
dreary olive-green walls with its rich bass texture.
“Thanks, Mr. Mansini,” I relaxed, welcoming the good news
as I slapped my hand
triumphantly on the desk. Adjusting my nylon-clad leg beneath me,
I leaned further over my solid oak desk.
I didn’t want to miss a word.
The phone cord didn’t stretch far enough to allow me to sit comfortably
in the chair and still be clearly heard above the persistent rumble of the
twenty-year-old furnace.
That combined with the squeaky whirl
of the ceiling fan was causing me to come dangerously close to losing my mind.
Something had to give.
And it certainly wasn’t going to be my sanity or my posture.
So, I jotted a note for the receptionist, Jonetta,
to write up yet another work order for the maintenance man/janitor,
Mr. Carter, to replace the current phone cord with a longer one
and apply some WD-40 to the fan.
Of course, the chances of this request written neatly
on official white paper not joining the ten
previous requests — crumpled and forgotten in the round
metal garbage can within minutes of
receipt — were slim to none.
Since he was inherited when the building lease was signed,
I had resigned myself to working with Carter – Just Carter, Ma’am.
No Mister, as he had reminded me more than once — and all that came
with him no matter how many times I had to reclean
the office the next morning.
But, Carter always managed to show up on time.
Drudging through the door at 5 on the dot,
pushing an ancient wooden broom with matted bristles,
his customary torn knit cap pulled down low on his furrowed
forehead, a wad of tobacco shoved messily into the right
side of his mouth and a perpetual smirk slashed
across an otherwise handsome face.
I absently brushed some shredded Parmesan cheese
from the sleeve of my red Christion Dior suit jacket
and looked longingly at my misplaced Shrimp Caesar
salad with garlic croutons.
One didn’t make the head of the company
one worked for leave a message so
I pushed my half-empty plate and diet coke
to the less-cluttered side of my desk and took the call.
“I couldn’t have landed the deal better myself,”
Mr. Mansini continued, not needing much input
from me to fuel the discussion.
He was what my grandfather would have called an inflated windbag.
He didn’t have conversations, just dialogues – blowing out enough hot air
to send any size balloon floating across the Pacific and back.
But at this point, dialogue was just fine with me because
though I may have appeared calm and composed,
I was absolutely giddy, my insides twirling around
like a five-year-old girl – arms outstretched,
frantically trying to capture the sun.
Giggling to myself, I shifted;
rebalancing my weight so my leg didn’t fall asleep,
then picked up a nearby pencil and tapped it gently on my worn
yearly desk calendar.
“Apparently this rapper person, Scooby,
had several attractive offers on the table that his team was seriously
considering but you were able to charm him over to our side.
I’m impressed, Kingston.
You’ve proven yourself to be extremely sharp and a savvy negotiator.
Even though I’m quite sure the fact that you’re a beautiful woman
didn’t hurt our case at all.” He chuckled before clearing his throat.
“We’re just waiting for his lawyers to approve the contract
and send it back.
We put together a nice financial package for him
and his people so I’m anticipating receiving it any minute now.
When they sign on the dotted line, you’ll be able to say you’ve
locked in your first major recording artist. And he’ll be the first rap star
to come under the urban division umbrella of this record label.
That’s quite an accomplishment for a newcomer
such as yourself and precedent setting for the Mansini Music Group.”
The reference to the lily-white company
he founded more than forty years ago made me smile.
After a yearlong hair-pulling fight,
the board of directors of the heritage Rock n’ Roll
station finally had to acknowledge the huge revenues
that could potentially flow from African-American pockets into theirs.
One power-point presentation,
three project-management breakdowns,
and six positive-cash-flow projections later —
the board could no longer argue with the obvious.
Over the past fifteen years, Hip-Hop had proven itself to be a cash cow.
“You’re going to help us make quite a splash
in the urban music arena.
Other record label heads are really starting to sit up and take notice too.
Russell Simmons, Sean Combs,
Damon Dash – they’re going to be calling soon,
trying to get you on their team.
I’m not mentioning this to imply that I
question your loyalty,Kingston. I don’t.
I gave you a chance when they wouldn’t
and I know you won’t forget that.
We are going to make big money on this one.
Sweetheart, you’re going to be my golden girl.”
I looked out the small window as the snowflakes fell gracefully.
Ironic how white and innocent they appeared, until they hit the ground
and turned into nasty gray slush within minutes of touchdown.
The scenario reminded me of Mr. Mansini. His voice took on a more personal tone.
“I would really like to celebrate to seal the deal.
Maybe fly you up to New York for an evening of dinner
and dancing so I can show you why I love this town so much.
” The rest went without saying.
He’d already made it perfectly clear
the other things he’d also like to show me —
things that definitely didn’t include the Statue of Liberty.
I could see him pacing the length of his palatial office suite, spoiled,
balding, and fat, an earpiece shoved in his ear and spittle flying
from his too wide mouth as he talked.
A shiver tripped up and down my spine.
Mr. Mansini was a dirty old white — reminiscent of the plantation
owner tipping past the cornfields to the slave quarters
under the cloak of darkness while the Mistress sleeps soundly in the Big House.
A night of dinner and dancing with the master
would not be happening any time soon.
Mr. Mansini glossed right over my murmured excuse —
something about my impossible schedule.
“Why let something like a little “no” stand in your way?
I’ll have my secretary check my schedule and call
you to arrange something.” He cleared his throat again
then transitioned back to business.
“We’ll talk soon though. I want to get this project underway
as soon as possible. We also need to get Scooby
some media exposure while he’s recording his album.
So draft a proposal as to how you’d like it to go,
your timeline, budget, etceteras,
and we’ll get things going.
This is your baby.
I want you to take the ball and run with it,
subject only to approval from me.
You won’t have to worry about the board of directors on this one.”
Mr. Mansini paused for effect.
Papers rumpled and a voice came in the background.
Looking at my calendar, I thankfully realized today
was the bi-weekly board meeting.
“I have some other matters that I must attend to,
plus I have to give the board the good news and I’m sure you’re
trying to get things wrapped up for the day, as well you should
You’re much too pretty to be cooped up.
Go out and have yourself a good time.”
The rumbling in the background got louder.
The natives were getting restless.
Mr. Mansini covered the microphone and mumbled something
I couldn’t make out before signing off.
“Congratulations again, Kingston.” “Thanks, Mr. Mansini.”
The line clicked.
I pushed the off button on my receiver
and settled more comfortably into my overstuffed office chair,
crossing one long leg over the other.
Tapping my pencil gently on the armrest,
I quietly basked in the glory of my shining moment
before I couldn’t sit still anymore. My butt was wriggling with joy.
So even though my door was open and Jonetta
could see and hear everything happening in my office,
I kicked off my red patent-leather pumps, flexed my toes,
and started doing a furious victory shimmy dance
that hiked my short aline skirt all the way up my thighs.
Tina Turner be damned.
Only nine months had passed since I quit my job
as a sales and marking executive at a local radio station
and pitched the proposal of a lifetime to the Mansini Music Group,
or MMG for short. Early on a Monday morning,
I had sashayed in there just as big and bad
as I wanted to be and laid it out like an Easter Sunday
dinner spread. Not only did they need to start an urban-music division,
but they needed me to head it and operate it from Chicago, my hometown.
One week later, Mr. Mansini called and said we had a deal.
A month later, I moved into a suite located on South Michigan Avenue
in Downtown Chicago. In sharp contrast to Mr. Mansini’s luxury
eleventh-floor accommodations, my office was housed in just four rooms
including the reception area where Jonetta sat and the bathroom.
Nowhere near Park Avenue, but it could be worse.
I could still be working for the man at the man’s radio station.
With this new job title, at least I had carved out a little piece of the pie for myself.
Jonetta rapped on the door before poking her afroed head in the room.
I fell back in the chair, my heart racing, and motioned her in.
She stepped forward but still hovered near the doorjamb.
Her posturing indicative of our relationship —
not wanting the lines of employer and employee to be blurred —
she was determined to keep everything on a strictly professional level.
Despite my frequent invitations,
there would be absolutely no male bashing
over steaming mugs of coffee.
No lamenting about the extra pinch of fat discovered
in inappropriate places while putting
on the pantyhose in the morning.
No family horror stories shared while
deciding what to order for lunch,
no conversations tossed back and forth
between office and reception area,
and certainly no laughter. Just business.
She leaned against the door with
an amused grin that she quickly
checked before clearing her throat.
“I’m gonna be leaving in few minutes.
Next month’s supplies have been ordered,
the work request has been submitted,
and I’ve confirmed two of your three
appointments for the next couple of days.
I’ll take care of the third tomorrow.
Anything else you need me to handle before I go?”
I patted my perspiring face with a Kleenex
and tried to smooth my unruly
curls back into some kind of order.
“Can you set up a conference call with Keela O’Neal
and Essence Heathrow for me?” I asked.
She nodded and started to leave before turning back.
“Way to go, girl.” She gave me the thumbs up,
relaxing her guard of professionalism for a fleeting moment.
“Thanks, Jonetta. Have a good weekend.” I smiled warmly
before turning back to the computer screen.
I called Scooby’s manager to congratulate
him on the good news while deleting unwanted email
correspondence with a swoop of my index finger.
No one answered, but that didn’t surprise me.
Scooby and his entourage were probably already
somewhere celebrating — pants sagging,
diamonds blinging, and a joint in every hand.
I left a quick message.
Jonetta knocked on the door again.
“Ms. O’Neal and Ms. Heathrow are holding on line five.
And this just came in for you.”
She laid a neatly organized stack of papers on my desk.
The cover sheet read: “Deal’s done. Congrats.”
I thumbed through the finalized copy of the contract
that made Scooby the newest member of MMG.
“Thank you, Jesus,” I said softly, breathing a sigh of relief.
Jonetta coughed softly, her eyebrows slightly raised.
She was waiting patiently for the clear to go.
I waved her out the door.
“Thanks again Jonetta.”
“See you in the morning.”
Punching the red flashing line,
I practically sung into the phone.
“Hello, Ladies.”
Essence’s sarcasm cut through the phone line.
“To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Don’t start with me, Essence,” I replied and Keela giggled
in the background. “I just got some good news — no, fabulous news —
and the first people I wanted to share it with are my two best friends
in the whole wide world.
Can you guys meet meat my place
in about thirty minutes?
I think we’re in need of a champagne toast?”
Keela asked. “You aren’t going to tell us what this is all about?”
“Of course, I am. In thirty minutes.”
She exhaled loudly before grudgingly agreeing. “You know I hate to wait.”
“Make it forty-five and I’ll see you there,” Essence added.
The next call was to my boyfriend but his secretary said
“Randy’s in a meeting and can’t be disturbed.”
Likely story — the hag knew we were having problems —
but I left my name anyway.
Shutting down my computer and tidying up my desk
took less than 5 minutes.
Another 2 and my black mink coat was buttoned tight,
my Luis Vuitton briefcase clutched tightly
in my hand and I dashed
out the door headfirst into the fierce Chicago wind
not so fondly nicknamed “Da Hawk.”
I settled in for the twenty-minute drive from my downtown office
to my home in the historic district of Kenwood.
My house just a stone’s throw away from the luxurious mansions —
including that of Louis Farrakhan — which marked this south-side community.
The skin of the city slowly shed as the high-rises diminished
to tiny specks in the rearview mirror.
Traffic was unusually light for the time of day and as I negotiated
my car into my parking space,
I realized I hadn’t, meaning I hadn’t cussed anyone out.
The sun was slowly setting to the west of the neatly landscaped courtyard.
Dotted with just the right mixture of large oak trees
and small flowery bushes, it was perfectly designed
to evoke feelings of peace and serenity.
Irregular footprint patterns were stamped in the snow;
leftover from a child’s snowball fight.
Christmas decorations were up in full force. But the Holiday spirit hadn’t
touched me yet. I hadn’t started shopping
for gifts and Christmas was just a week away.
A neighbor from two doors down waved a gloved hand
as I strolled up the walk. “Hey, Girl!”
“Hey, Henry! What’s up?”
Proline hair shine and Drakkar cologne tickled my nose
as he enfolded me in a hug. “Child, please, it was a horrendously
busy day at the shop, do you hear me? Busy! Busy! Busy!
My feet are positively screaming.
All I wanna do is soak these dogs in some Epsom salt
or something, maybe make my baby rub them for me.
Anything to make them feel better.”
The wind whistled between us and Henry shrugged deeper
into his high-collared wool coat, his neatly groomed goatee
now barely visible.
“Sounds like a good deal.”
“Yeah, having a live-in lover actually
has its good points at times.
Though those may be few and far between.”
He chuckled and his body jiggled with mirth.
“Hey did you hear about that body they found in Robbins?”
“Nah, I haven’t had a chance to check out the news today.”
“They’re finding bodies all over Chicago, the paper said five
but I think there may be more. They say it’s some kind of a drug conspiracy.
The police are trying to tie all the killings together.
I’ll tell you what, you don’t want to fool with them drug boys now in days.
That’s fo sho.”
“You right about that and it’s a damn shame.
So close to the holidays, too. People just don’t care anymore.”
I sniffed as another wind whipped through the courtyard.
I had only been outside for a few minutes and my nose
was already starting to run.
Pulling the paper from his bag,
he showed me the front page.
“Here read it for yourself,” he said then stuck the
folded up newspaper under my arm.
“They’re trying to have one last association
meeting before the New Year.
Something about new storm doors.
I guess they’ll be sending out a memo or something.”
“Figures. They always want to have
these meetings but then never get anything done.”
“You know some people just like to hear themselves talk.
” Henry’s eyes narrowed.
“Your hair is off the hook.”
I touched my wool hat rimmed with fur.
“How can you —”
Henry burst into laughter before I could finish.
“Oh, you’re just saying that because you did it.”
I smiled in amusement.
He snapped his fingers then blew me a kiss.
“I know, that’s why it looks so good.”
I could still hear him laughing after he went inside.The sun’s orange glow cast warm, elegant shadows across
the marble-tiled floor of my townhouse’s foyer.
It was almost beautiful enough to make you forget that
it was the middle of winter in Chicago and cold
enough to freeze the blood in your veins.
Cocoa, my chocolate Labrador Retriever
bounded down the stairs and practically
had me pinned against the wall before the door closed.
I pulled the door back open.
“All right, down girl! Go on outside.” Barking anxiously,
Cocoa dashed outside and took care of business
before eagerly scampering back to warmth.
I dropped my keys on the hook by the closet and hung my
coat before sitting on the bottom step of the staircase
that led to the second floor. I ducked and dodged Cocoa’s wet kisses
while trying to slide off my pumps and slip my feet into fuzzy blue
house shoes before trotting upstairs with her right on my heels.
According to the silver plated clock hanging on my kitchen wall,
Keela would be ringing my doorbell in less than ten minutes.
I stuck a bottle of Dom Perignon in the freezer to chill then called
a local pizza joint and placed an order for delivery.
Checking the caller ID came next — Randy
had yet to respond to any of my messages.
I headed upstairs to take a shower.
While zipping up my pink jogging suit,
I decided that I was not going to call him again.
Two can play that game.
The front gate slammed. Trotting downstairs,
I pulled on my clothes just in time to fling the door open
as Keela was raising her finger to ring the doorbell.
“Get your ass in here!” I yelled, startling her.
She pulled me into a tight bear hug.
“Hey, Sweetie! I know it’s only been a day but I missed ya!”
“Girl, puhleeze, let me go and get inside.
It’s freezing out here!” I laughed,
wiggling out of her embrace and grabbed her by her arm,
pulling her into the house.
She tugged off red cashmere hat and shook her hair out,
each ringlet falling in perfect alignment,
framing her round dimpled face.
Cocoa danced around our legs.
“Hi Cocoa.” Keela said obligingly, patting her on the head.
“Essence is right behind me.
I just saw her pulling into the parking lot.”
“Wow. She’s early. That’s rare for her.”
That snow was now falling in earnest,
picturesque oversized flakes fighting each other
to reach the ground first.
Essence opened an umbrella before
climbing out of the white BMW 745i Sedan
that her parents bought her for her thirtieth birthday.
She slammed the door and laughed when she spotted us
standing in the doorway. “Don’t start talking shit!”
She teetered on stiletto heels, stepping carefully around
several ice patches.
“Don’t fall! I ain’t got homeowner’s insurance.”
Her high-pitched laughter followed me as I went upstairs
to check on the champagne. The front gate squeaked and slammed again.
“That’s the pizza. Take care of it for me will you, Essence?
I’ll pay you back later.” I leaned over the banister,
drying a glass with a paper towel.
I couldn’t quite hear Essence’s response but I did decipher
a few choice expletives mingled with the flirty
banter she exchanged with the deliveryman.
The aroma of spicy pepperoni wafted slowly thorough the house,
my mouth watering before Essence and Keela even
made it up to the second floor.
“Will you come get your damn dog?”
Essence yelled as she walked across the room
and pecked me on the cheek.
“If he scratches a hole in these stockings,
you’re buying me a new pair.”
She placed the greasy pizza box on the kitchen countertop, opened it,
and fanned her hand grandly in invitation.
A snap of my fingers sent Cocoa scurrying to what I had dubbed his
“basement apartment.”
I flipped on the switch to the black accented gas fireplace
and flames sparked in mixtures of blue, red, and yellow.
They painted a pretty picture on my matted cream walls
but then stretched in ominous shadows across the ceiling.
“Paper towels, Keela!” I yelled.
The grease was already starting to seep from the box
onto the countertop’s newly polished surface.
“Ooooh Lordy! It has been one.”
Essence declared as she propped her narrow behind
on the armrest of my earth brown leather sectional.
“Bad day?” Keela asked, heading back to the kitchen,
returning with a box of Tropicana Orange Juice
and a handful of paper towels.
“Another day with my nose to the grindstone.”
She sighed before sliding down into couch.
I threw my head back and laughed.
“Essence, you manage a day spa.
It can’t be too grueling with smell of sea salts
and all that motivational music playing all day.”
“Look I deal with broke-down women
who come to the shop looking for a miracle.
Trust me, it is a high-pressured environment.
You know black women will snap
if they don’t walk out of the Salon
looking like they belong on the pages
of a beauty magazine and that is just
not reality for ninety-eight percent of them.”
She paused in the middle of her tirade
and looked at Keela. “What’s the orange juice for?”
“I’m going to drink it instead of champagne.”
Keela smiled with wide-eyed innocence
as Essence rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“Can’t you suck it up and just drink it this once?”
“You know I don’t like the taste of champagne.”
She read the label on the bottle. “Even if it is Dom Perignon.”
I shook my head. “You’re such the kindergarten teacher.”
Her current job as a substitute teacher
was the latest in a long string of jobs,
including pastry chef and buyer for an adult bookstore.
Essence stood up impatiently,
poised to pop the cork to the dusky green bottle.
“Are you ready to do this?” I nodded and she poured
the two of us a glass.
“Let’s toast to dreams coming true.”
I raised my glass and clinked it with each of theirs;
first one, then the other.
“I’ll toast to that,” Keela murmured
before taking a sip of orange juice.
“Hmmmm. Nice and dry,” Essence said before downing
her entire glass then pouring herself another one.
While refilling mine, looked at me, one raised eyebrow
crinkled her normally smooth forehead
and a half smile danced across her delicate face.
The shadowy light from the flames only accentuated her beauty;
from her luminescent skin to the deep almond eyes
set under the flawlessly arched eyebrows
and perfectly bowed lips. “Well?”
“Ladies,” I paused to add even more drama
to the moment. “You are looking at an entertainment
executive who within a year of creating a position
and a department with a major albeit-outdated record
label has signed her first major recording artist.”
“No, you didn’t, Kingston!” Keela shouted,
hitting me in the arm.
“Of course, I did.” I confidently crossed
my arms in front of me and pursed my lips.
“You got Scooby!” Essence screamed.
“I got Scooby!” I echoed, reaching into my briefcase,
pulling out the signed contract and waving
it in front of them. I watched their expressions
as the magnitude of my accomplishment sunk in.
What happened to me, happened to them —
good and bad? Their excitement was genuine.
I threw the entire contract up in the air and danced
as the various sheets of paper fell around us.
And we drank more champagne and orange juice,
toasting to everything from fat paychecks to good sex.
We never got to the pizza.
Keela and Essence scooped up a slice on the way out.
“Your mother would be so proud of you.”
Essence said at the door, pulling us into a group hug before leaving.
I smiled sadly and leaned against the closed door.
Yes, my mom would be proud. I only wished
she had lived so I could see that pride
for her little girl shining in her eyes.
The salty taste of bittersweet tears mixed
with champagne, then with contact in hand,
I fell across my bed and slipped into a restless sleep.
ISBN: 09755092-6-8 Price: $14.95
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Easier Said Than Done by
Nikki Woods
ISBN: 0-9755092-6-8
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Distribution: Baker & Taylor & Amazon.com
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Publisher’s Email: Books@EbonyEnergy.com
Category: African-American Literature
Regular Price: $14.95 (US) Trade Paperback,
Page Count: 307
