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Dallas thrived on gossip and it didn’t take much to get her started on the personal dramas of other people. Paying attention to her stories provided more entertainment than a Hollywood melodrama.
Victor was funny, single, intelligent, well read, handsome, and polished. I wasn’t interested in hearing any sordid tales about my dream man, but Joe stopped her before I could.
Joe slammed his glass down on the table. “I swear, you are such a vicious gossip! I’m surprised you didn’t just assume that Victor is a cross-dresser and start spreading that dirt around!”
I had never seen Joe get angry before and his reaction was so extreme that no one knew what to say. It was clear from the expression of murderous rage on his face that Dallas had unwittingly stumbled into dangerous territory, but that didn’t make sense unless Joe had a crush on the same “lucky girl.”
I downed my rum and Coke in one gulp—and half of Paul’s Scotch. The combination made me wince.
In due course the whole world would know Victor’s secret and it would rock us to our very foundations, but that night I was still determined to become his woman and this information caused a new heaviness to curl up around my heart.
“What on earth is the matter with you?” Elaine asked finally.
“Nothing,” Joe replied shortly. “Excuse me.” He headed toward the men’s room.
“I’m confused,” said Rachel. “What just happened here?”
There was a lot of murmuring around the table about Joe’s astonishing behavior, but I wasn’t listening to any of it. Dallas was indeed a gossip, but once in a while her information was accurate and this made Victor’s consistent rejection of my overtures during the past year even harder to swallow. I ordered myself two drinks from a passing waiter.
Paul whispered in my ear, “What’s the matter, Jackie?”
“I wonder who Victor was buying underwear for and whether it’s just a fling or if the woman really means something to him,” I whispered back.
Paul made a tsk-tsk sound and then said, “It’s time you and I had a talk.”
Whatever he wanted to say to me would have to wait. Elaine was starting the “let’s bitch about white folks” hour.
“Did you hear what happened to Alyssa Kraft?”
Alyssa was one of us. A tall, slender, copper-skinned sister from St. Louis, she was a genius at fixing even the purplest of prose. She was also kind, charitable, and sweet.
Joe slid back into his seat. “What about Alyssa?”
Elaine took a sip of her Bailey’s and said, “Alyssa went to some thousand-dollar-a-plate fund-raiser in D.C. a few months ago and she was seated next to Davina Coolidge.”
Paul whistled. Davina Coolidge was the highest-ranking African-A
merican in President Clinton’s administration.
“They did the polite chitchat thing and it turned to girl talk. At the end of the evening, they exchanged phone numbers. Every time Davina came to New York, she called Alyssa for dinner or drinks. Whenever Alyssa was in D.C. visiting her folks, she called Davina.”
“Wow!” said Dallas.
“At some point, Alyssa suggested that Davina’s rags-to-riches story would make a terrific inspirational memoir. At first Davina said no, but she eventually changed her mind. So, Alyssa helped her write a short proposal and presented it at her editorial meeting this week. Well, Marlena Rashker, the executive editor, told Alyssa that she had done a fantastic job, but since the project had ties to the White House, she would have to share it with Marlena.”
“What a load of crap,” I said.
“I know Marlena Rashker,” said Paul. “She is going to take all the credit, have her name in all the press coverage, and push Alyssa so far back in the process, even Davina won’t remember her existence.”
“Ah,” Elaine replied, pointing her swizzle stick in Paul’s direction. “Our Alyssa must have known something like that would happen and told Davina to expect it. Well, to Davina’s credit, she had instructed Alyssa to announce at the meeting that her editor had to be an African-American or she would find another publishing house.”
We were all grinning and cheering by now and even Rachel stopped batting her eyes at the men who were drinking at the bar. Our whooping and hollering provoked quite a few reproving stares from our fellow diners, but we didn’t care.
Joe murmured, “That took a lot of guts. I wouldn’t have had the nerve to say it.”
Elaine held up her hand for silence. “I’m not through. When Alyssa made that statement, Rashker went wild. She stood up and screamed at Alyssa in front of everyone.”
I was surprised. “What exactly did she say?”
