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fine,” I said.
    When Bristol left my office I walked back over to the window to watch the throng of people moving through the streets below and tried to muster the sense of triumph I thought I’d feel when I dreamed of reaching this type of success, but the only thing I felt was an overwhelming sadness inside. I never thought being so successful would feel so lonely.
    Standing there, looking down at Times Square, I realized that everything in my world had changed. My life was like a puzzle in a box, and I had to figure out a way to put the pieces together. Again.
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    From
Bling Bling
Confidential
    Davis McClinton didn’t like all the press African Americans like Richard Parsons, Sylvia Rhone, Kenneth Chenault and Stan O’Neal were receiving by heading Fortune 500 companies and spent a great deal of time thinking about how he could return to the front pages and covers of some of the top business magazines. He’d spent a great deal of time in the late nineties competing with Earl Graves, Cathy Hughes, and Robert L. Johnson. There had to be an area of business where once again he could reign supreme.
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3
__________________
    I could tell I’d already missed the first round of drinks when I entered the dimly lit restaurant, Rosita’s, and heard Justine laughing. I spotted her and Kai and another woman I didn’t know munching chips and salsa and sipping from half-filled margarita glasses.
    â€œHey, ladies. What’d I miss?” I asked as I took the empty seat at the corner table illuminated by the plum-red glow of a covered candle.
    â€œBitch, where have you been? I told you six-thirty,” Justine said.
    â€œI have a magazine to run,” I said as I turned to the stranger and extended my hand and said, “Hello, I’m Zola Norwood.”
    â€œHi, Zola. I’m Roberta Garrison Elmore, president of the Greater New York Panhellenic Council.”
    â€œNice meeting you,” I said. “And how are you, Kai?”
    â€œHoney, I am doing just fine. What’s going on at
Bling Bling
?”
    â€œSame ole same ole. The second week of September is Fashion Week, and my assistant spent most of the day begging a bunch of white designers assistants for tickets and decent seats to their shows. I guess they think my readers don’t buy designer clothes,” I said as I looked around one of my favorite Mexican restaurants for our regular waiter, Hector. I loved the atmosphere but didn’t like eating a meal there unless I was depressed or had lost a few pounds. Mexican food was just too fattening.
    Justine Rice was my best friend from way back. We’d grown up in Nashville and attended school together from fourth grade until we parted ways after high school. Justine attended Memphis University because she got a full scholarship and after graduation moved to New York. She was a professional events planner and moonlighted at one of the posh hotels, catering to the needs of their special clients.
    Justine was a heavyset beauty with a strong sexual presence and confidence when it came to men. She had wonderful deep-set brown eyes and a soft round face. One moment she could be as calm as a Sunday-school teacher, but after a few drinks her personality and voice would suddenly change, and she would become more sure of herself and sound like an emcee at a raunchy strip show. The girl could cuss like a comedian.
    Justine and I met Kai Davidson at one of the events Justine had planned. Recently divorced from her doctor husband, Kai was the only child of an upstate New York federal judge and a clinical social worker. Kai graduated from Sarah Lawrence with a degree in Art History but hadn’t worked a day in her life, unless you counted all the volunteer work she did. She was now living off a hefty divorce settlement and occasionally took classes in interior design. Her ex, whom we called “the good doctor,” was more than happy to part with some of his money