Mr. Weiz
(Rachel)
No calls in days from Josh Ripley, my agent, to give me news about new potential jobs. He also didn't answer my phone calls or any other else as I assumed since I've tried speak with him using Santana and Quinn's phone. Maybe I should use somebody else's phone. Maybe Andrew's or Johnny's. Or maybe I should calm down. But I couldn't help myself. It's being almost a month since I came back to New York after Las Vegas' fight. Quinn didn't find another job yet and my sister was working on something. Since the fight, all I do is working out, cleaning the house, fix the meals, watch TV and try to find some audition to do. I needed a new job, a real manager, a publicist, anyone that could help to deal with my career since my agent was MIA.
On Saturday, while Quinn was working on an underpaid freelancer job, Santana dragged me to a charming restaurant near our home in Astoria that she was a regular goer. The food was cheap and good and Santana went there all the time she as sick of my cooking. While I had enjoyed my six ingredients salad and my root beer, Santana barely touched her parmigiana chicken breast. She was looking at me weird until took out the bag two mugs and placed them in front of me.
"What do you see?"
"Two mugs!"
"Really, Captain Obvious! What do you see?"
"Two mugs, that you didn't eat even half of your meal, our root beers, two glasses..." Santana huffed impatiently, but what she wanted me to say? I may have sixth sense, but I didn't read minds. I knew she wanted to talk about the mugs, but saw nothing important in them.
"Don't you see the difference between a mug and another?"
"One is completely white and the other has this cute little drawing of Audrey Hepburn."
"No, silly, the difference is that the white mug costs four dollars on Walmart and Audrey Hepburn Mug costs $15 in Cc Gift Shop." Santana took a sip of bear root and taped the poor table as if he had reached a brilliant conclusion. What exactly, I wasn't sure.
"So this mug costs $11 more just because it has Audrey's face?"
"No, silly, It costs 11 bucks more because it has pop art as an added value." She smiled satisfied and snatched a piece of chicken while I didn't understand where my sister was going on with this conversation. She took me to this restaurant (although, by that, I thanked), just to show me two mugs with absurd price differentials?
"This, by chance, have to do with you babbling about kitchen towels throw the week?"
"Yes, it does. I discovered that you hardly find any kitchen towel for sell in gifts shops..." She took another forkful in the chicken and I drank my root beer to see if I could understand what was going on.
"Santana, could you please go straight to the point?"
"I met Mr Weiz earlier this week and asked him a job."
"What? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Listen. He didn't give me a job right away, but he said I should create a business plan for the kitchen towels that his employees manufactured and sell. I have to present my ideas next week. I don't know what he wants with it exactly and I believe he's testing me before giving me a new internship at his company. Or maybe he's punishing me for having ignored him last year. Anyway, I'm thinking in something really good."
"Santana… this is… nice! I appreciate your efforts…"
"I know we talked about our situation and you think you can still provide everything and that I should focus on Columbia and blah, blah, blah. But here's a thing, Ray: we swear to protect each other, and, right now, it's me doing my part. And I'm not only doing it because of you. I also need this personal realization after almost two years depending on you. I almost forgot how good is to be independent."
"Ok…" I listened carefully what my sister was saying and she was right. She needed it as much as I do. "And your project has something to do with Audrey's face?"
"Almost. I'm thinking about create a collection of artistic kitchen towels to sell on gift shops and online."
"Really. I saw cute ones in the market near here."
"I know that, those kitchen towels are part of an industrial line. They are hardly a collection. I thought of something more unique and exclusive... like Quinn's photos, those cool designs that Mercedes put in her online portfolio, or those tattoos that Johnny draws. It was like to buy a cool fabric picture where artists could show their works and it's a form to add value and cause the need for consumer."
"I don't understand marketing, Santy, but if you say so… Now, Johnny? He has some creativity, but I don't think he's a true artist."
"He sold those shirts about Quinn's movie, right?" As I was about to answer, Santana slapped the air and continued. "Anyway... there is space to put this idea into practice I'm still raising all values of production and sales, but it's not something expensive because the structure is already there, operant. The most expensive part of the process would be the fishing. First, you have to call a group of potential customers to introduce the product... but in a pleasant way, unlike those boring and formal meetings."
"Like producing a pocket show?" I started to get interested.
"As a closed event, it can be arranged on a small place with free cocktail, good music."
"How long to set all this?"
"Calm down Ray. It's not like it's going to happen. Weiz wants me to show ideas to test me and that's all. I doubt he will actually put his money on it. Still, it is a real business opportunity that we could invest by ourselves."
"Shame. I would do a killer pocket show that the clients would be so impressive that they would all make a deal with the company."
"Of course!" Santana laughed and a thought how good was seeing her more relaxed. Things at home weren't easy and when some of us stressed out just a little bit, it was always a good sigh.
We decided to walk home: something we haven't doing for a long ago time. My life became so strange and hectic in the past year that I kept myself up to these small pleasures like walking around talking nonsense with my sister or my closest friends. Santana told me funny stories of Columbia and her coral. I felt guilty for only having seen her performing once when she did the solo of "Where Did Our Love Go", by The Supremes. It was brilliant, by the way. I was once again proud of her. But every time Santana had a fair performance, I couldn't go because I had to be at the theater working. It was simply impossible to me.
"You haven't spoken to Andrew this last week. Are you guys okay?"
"I talked to him two days ago in Columbia. Anyway, Andrew tolerates my sudden shutdowns."
"I like him, San. I guess you get much better with Andrew by your side. He is very decent, and he doesn't have the power to break your heart into a thousand pieces."
"Still angry with Britt?" I nodded for convenience.
I wasn't really angry with Brittany for broke Santana's heart. I knew my sister offered her a home and all she needed to take care of the baby, but Brittany's family was in L.A and she did have the father's baby support. It was the right thing to do. I only could imagine the hell that would be if Brittany had come to New York with her unborn kid. Santana would quit Columbia to take care of her and for that, I was sure I would be mad and very angry. But what upset me most was because Brittany kind of cut Santana out of her life. That wasn't fair and made my sister suffer even more.
"Ray, shit happens" Santana said a little uncomfortable with the subject. "I mean... not that I'm cursing her kid."
"I know that, Santy."
"All right, so, move on." But I couldn't dropped the subject so easy when Santana was finally talking about it.
"A pity that you don't love Andrew as much." I really thought it was a shame. I knew that my sister liked him a lot. But love? It was still something she holds to Brittany, unfortunately.
"Well, I don't have a passionate relationship like you and Quinn, but we understand each other in our own way. He is a great friend and we get along well, you know that."
"That's the problem, Santy: you are more friends than lovers. You deserve to be happy next to someone who you true love."
"It looks like Once Upon a Time lame kind of talk." She got me: it really was. "Here's what I think: If Brittany and I are mean to be, we will happen someday. I still love her and I think I still in love with her. Unfortunately, I am forced to agree with what her mother said to me by phone: Britt has a stable life with that guy and I need to concentrate on my goals. I respect it for now, which doesn't mean I can't fight for her later."
"Aunt P. is a bitch."
"Not at all. She only started being a bitch after that day she caught me senseless fucking her daughter in that summer before we went to London. She royally freaked out."
"Gosh! I remember Aunt P. complaining about it with daddy and papi. Anyway, are you really willing to fight for Britt?"
"In the first opening I detect."
…
(Santana)
I was more than excited to see Nouvelle Vague. Seriously! Those French bastards were too cool. It wasn't the kind of show to dance, but it was compensated by the best music: all classics singing in great versions. I was absolutely in love with the version of "Blister In The Sun", and if they played "Ever Fallen In Love", by Buzzcocks, I promised myself I wouldn't get introspective. I mean, the music was the perfect picture of my non-relationship with Brittany and, at the same time, my best advice: "Ever fallen in Love with someone/ ever fallen in love/ in love with someone/ ever fallen in Love/ in love with someone/ you should not fallen in love with."
The show would happen in Upper East Side, near Columbia. So I went to Andrew's dorm before we meet up with Johnny and some more friends. As always, I met my boyfriend with his face to the computer screen. I rolled my eyes. How can such a good guy be so nerdy? Okay I spent most of my studying time with my face turned to some screen until the point I needed to wear glasses for reading, but Andrew was a true computer addict. He would have a serious crisis of abstinence had passed a day without internet and I was holding myself to not prove my theory
"Hi nerd!" I held his face for a kiss and then turned to the side to compliment his roommate. "Tom, I hope you have a place to sleep tonight."
"No way! You have an apartment Santana, so why don't you take your boyfriend there and leave me alone?" He threw a pillow at me, purposefully away. Tom wasn't crazy to hit me.
"Are you sure you will discuss this with me? Again?" I picked up the pillow and shot back to hit him.
"Hey Tom, come on!" Andrew said more like. "We have an agreement and this is temporary..."
"How so this is temporary?" I asked.
"I would talk about it later, but i'm looking for my own place since I'm earning some money now with my games and DivisionX offered me a job."
"Wow, Andy, this is great. When it happened?"
"Yesterday."
"Will you accept the offer?"
"That's a high possibility, but if I do, maybe I will have to leave Columbia for now."
It seemed that I lost some shit this week we spend apart. I was happy for my boyfriend. That was a great opportunity and he deserved that even if means he had to sacrifice his college degree. I wait Andrew change his clothes and we walked away hand in hand to the concert. And I was thinking that his new place would easier our sex life. Tom had a point: I had my own place and Andrew slept with me once in my room, but in the next day I felt that Quinn was constrained and Rachel behaved weird having Andrew in the breakfast. The truth was that Andrew was my thing: he wasn't part of our closest friends circle.
"Are you doing a project for that pedophile?" Andrew asked while I was updating him.
"Mr. Weiz isn't a pedophile and my project is taking shape just nice!" I said as we walked.
"He is a old man screwing 20 years old models. Come on! Even I think it is kinda gross."
"You are such a pussy, Andy. Weiz has money and he can buy some young vaginas and nice boobs."
"As long as he keeps his hands away from you…"
Andrew thought that Mr. Weiz could have an agenda of intentions with me because of all the help he gave me in the beginning and because of certain charges too.
Johnny was waiting for us in front of box office as the combined. He was with a new girl, maybe a new girlfriend. Johnny loved new girlfriends but unlike Mike, at least those girls weren't just a one night stand. Johnny actually tried to have a relationship with them. That new girl in question was Asian. Not Tina like Asian. She was more like stripper kind of Asian who didn't fit well with him. My dear friend was a pretty guy that reminded me Jenson Button, the Formula One's pilot, when he was shaved and with a haircut. But Johnny tends to neglect his visual. That time, he needed to shave and to cut his hair again.
Nouvelle Vague came on stage and it was the greatest feeling. By the middle of the show, the Asian stripper got crazy and seemed she had taken something. And when they played "Too Drunk to Fuck", this girl invaded the stage and kissed the singer on the lips. They started dancing and the audience was applauding. After that, before the security could take her from the stage, she did a spectacular mosh. That worth the ticket. I looked at Johnny this time and made a sign of respect.
But my particular moment came when the band was playing "Teenage Kicks". That was one of my favorite songs and I sang on the top of my lungs. "Are teenage dreams so hard to beat?/ Every time she walks down the street/ another girl in the neighborhood/ wish she was mine, she looks so good/ i wanna hold you, wanna hold you tight/ get teenage kicks right througt the night/ come on." Before I knew it, Johnny had his arms around my shoulders singing along and dancing with me. Then I noticed that his beard wasn't that bad, as so his medium long hair. His green eyes were sparkling, his slight smile was always on. Oh God! No, please! Anyone but Johnny. I couldn't think about him that way. No, no, no, no, no.
…
Prepared spreadsheets, business plan in place, prior survey. I think I had everything to show Mr. Weiz my ideas for that kitchen towels business. That Tuesday was one of the rare times that I went to Columbia by car. I had good reason for that, because as soon as my last class ended, I drove toward the mansion. Weiz said our initial meeting would happen in the company, but he gave up the idea and asked his secretary to relocate. To me, the place didn't matter. As always, the butler answered the door, there is a security guy around, his girlfriend wasn't around and it made me wonder if Mr Weiz was done with her. Incidentally, the place seemed empty and cold without the presence of a family: no wife, no crying grandkid, without prying eyes, without laughing. Only a few employees doing their respective duties while the owner was closed in the office.
"Mr. Weiz is waiting you in the office."
I nodded to the butler and went straight to the place. That office had absolutely everything that a business man needed: computers, screens for conferences, telephones, cell phones, printers, documents cases, large bookcase, comfortable sofa, table crafted from solid wood, a soft rug, a gazillion pens, a bar in the corner, and photos of his deceased family, especially his two sons: one died for leukemia when he was still a child, and the other one was stabbed during a bar fight in Los Angeles.
"Good afternoon." The door was open, but I knocked anyway to announce my presence before entering.
"Please." He sifted through some papers at the time. "Get in and close the door."
I obeyed. I sat in the comfortable chair across the table and waited him to finish whatever it was. As I overheard seemed like Mr. Weiz was making arrangements, but it didn't seem like stuffs for the company. If so, Mr. Weiz wouldn't be home, but in a meeting with some bigwigs from Wall Street. Once he finished, his attention was on me.
"Santana Berry-Lopez." He said like a master of the situation. "Did you do what I asked?"
"Yes sir."
"Very well. Show me!"
I turned on my computer and showed some Quinn's photos and of course a white kitchen Towel. I didn't make much eye candy, so I went straight to what matters: kitchen towel could be an interesting product if we provided it a difference: genuine art. Mr. Weiz was a declared fan of Quinn's work. At least it was what he said once. So I made good use of it to manipulate him. At first it was just a survey, a challenge. But then the thing acted on me like a drug. It was cool to imagine lines, collections, strategies to attract customers.
"I concentrated my efforts in New York City and there is a promising market here with several potential customers and partners. Of course I would refine my search if I had more time, but my bet is that Weiz Co. can close deals with 60% of then since there isn't a strong competition on this market. As a form to attract them, a video advertising would be necessary for the presentation of the product: one lean and short, but that we can spend the whole idea and show why people would want such product like kitchen towel." I continued my explanations.
"Continue." He spoke with pen in mouth. He seemed unimpressed with nothing I had to say and that made me nervous.
"Advertising Strategies are not my specialty, but after the definition of the production line and established strategic partnerships, I believe it is customary to hire a company that specializes in advertising and marketing to establish an outreach strategy and product launch. I took the liberty of calling Marlon Rogers, the manager of Weiz Co. publicist and strategy marketing department, and he said, hypothetically, that it would be acceptable."
Weiz slowly got up, he poured himself a little whiskey without offering me a drink or whatever. This made me apprehensive. I followed his movement, which went to the bookcase and took out a beautiful wood box.
"Cuban cigars." He explained. "My doctor ordered me not to smoke, so I keep these to enjoy at times I want to celebrate something or relax to not get so stressed." He took a cigar and lit it.
"I assume this is not a conclusion, or you would have offered one to me." I began to get apprehensive.
"I like your deductible, Santana. This is good for business. And I like your project. You really made a great job on such short notice. You really are skillful. But I fear that all this has been in vain."
"Why, sir? What did I do wrong?"
"Do you remember what was the purpose of your task?"
"Sell kitchen towels?"
"No, Santana. Your goal was to think of something to help women who work in my factories. You found an interesting business opportunity for some valued product, but that isn't the point and I don't think these strategies would help those women. Accordingly Santana, you failed."
"Maybe... but there is no idea that can't undergo adjustments."
"You said you talked to Marlon Rogers. By chance have you talked to any of the women from the factory?"
"No sir..."
"Then you went away from the point." He looked at me with pure contempt. "If you can't focus on the point, the goal, then all you will do is ruining what I built. I didn't invest so much in you to see this kind of silly mistakes."
"You invested in me?" His words beat me up because it was a lie. He never invested in me. Zaide invested and continued to do so. But it seemed that Mr. Weiz didn't listen and continued to scold.
"How will you ever take a big company with that juvenile romantic head. You're just like Joel." At that point, Weiz seemed to be losing his cool and I didn't understand the reason. If this was a test and I didn't make it, fuck it. I didn't understand the drama, I didn't understand the scolding, I knew nothing. "You don't have any of his blood in your veins, but you are a loser exactly like him."
"Don't you dare insult my grandfather, you piece of shit." I decided to fight back. "You speak as if I had ruined something, and what is this shit of invest in me? Taking your influence on Stuyvesant High, there's nothing more I can say that I owe to you. Nothing! And now you come here like a bill collector? I asked you for a job, now if you don't want to give me one that's okay, but you don't need to scold me, old man."
"What did you say, young lady?" He approached me in a threatening manner, but my blood was hot and the outlet for my frustrations was underway. I didn't hold myself.
"Maybe my boyfriend is right. Maybe you are truly unhappy and miserable old man. Alone in a world and tries to compensate your lack of love fucking twenty years old little girls that barely became legal that lay a hand on your limp dick for cash. Incidentally, you should really spend your money on whores since there's no one left of your damn line to tell the story."
I felt a heavy hand crashing against my face.
"How dare you!" He shouted. His mouth was foaming.
"You insulted me first!" I shouted back. I turned my back to gathering my things. "I don't need this shit."
"Don't you dare to leave this room!"
"Why? By chance am I a prisoner? Pedophile!"
Then came a very heavy hand crashing into my face again. The hit was so strong that I lost my balance and fell on the rug. I was stunned and Mr. Weiz looked like he was too confusing. He retreated, went to the bar and served himself with a double dose. The truth is that I was unable to get out running. I was crying with rage, mad to put it out, but if I did, the consequences could be even more disastrous because I felt like punch that old man. It was better to sit down, breathe and collect myself before leave all that shit behind. Weiz took another glass and filled it. The new cup was offered to me.
"It's an 18 years old Auchentoshan. I doubt your palate is matured enough after all the cheap beer to know what it is, but I can guarantee that this is one of the best things you will put in your mouth." He emptied his glass, but I didn't touch the drink. I have my pride after all. I just watched in silence as I tried to hold myself. "You think you know things, Santana, that you are smart. But you don't know anything. You never knew... I have heirs to leave my legacy, and I'm not talking about my idiotic alcoholic nephew who lives in Paris. I have a direct heir by blood, and another one that isn't by blood, but bearing my son's name and it is a natural for business."
"Good for you." I replied drought, although that information was even a surprise to me. For all I knew, Mr Weiz had no direct heirs. "I need to go."
"I had a child before I was married. A bastard... his name was Hiram Joel Berry." It made my blood run cold and at the same time, it disgusted me.
"How dare you say something like that about my father?"
Weiz gave a half smile as he was recovering his confidence. He seemed demonic and definitely had control of the situation.
"Sit down."
"I prefer stay stand."
"Whatever you say." He looked straight into my eyes, which made my body shiver. "Do you really love your grandma, right?"
"After Zaide offense, you will do the same to my bubbee?" I shook my head in disbelief.
"I won't. Sarah is my friend and gave me a son." I couldn't believe that. I couldn't believe on what was happening. It was just too surreal.
Rachel and I listened a lot of stories about the Berry's saga from New York to Ohio. I knew how zaide started his business, so he could have a life of comfort. I knew bubbee played jazz at night in New York and taught piano to children for years. My father was always physically like bubbee: green eyes, delicate features. Daddy wasn't a tall man, so also Mr. Weiz: 1.70m maybe? Zaide was quite tall: 1.80m. I had to move away such thoughts or I would start giving reason to the enemy.
"How?"
"Isn't it obvious?" How gross!
"It isn't obvious. Not to me. Zaide never mentioned anything, or bubbee, or even my daddy."
"Joel doesn't know anything. Your father knew but I understand why he kept it from you. Sarah told Hiram the truth when he was an adult and he opted to ignore me. He pretended that I didn't exist."
"Would you blame him? I wouldn't."
Weiz finished his drink and didn't serve himself another dose. He relaxed his body against the back of the chair and spoke to me as a Jewish mobster.
"Sarah and I had a summer love. I met her at a pub where her father was doing a gig with a famous jazz player. He was just a honky jew pianist known for playing jazz as a black man. But at that time, his alcoholism was so bad that he could no longer complete one set of songs. That's when Sarah took his place to save her father's cache or they wouldn't have money to pay the rent. So, I saw her replacing her father. She was so bright that some people lost the focus in the music just to look at her. Sarah was a good pianist, but not as good as her father, for sure.
"I was delighted with that 16 years old girl playing jazz among those black men. She was beautiful, had intense green eyes. I found her address and went to visit her the next day in front of a poor building in the Bronx. I'll spare you the details, Santana, but I can tell she wasn't a virgin anymore. Probably she was fucked by some of those black guys who played with her father. It was an amazing summer dating her, but I went back to Harvard without looking back or making promises.
"I was in New York taking my roles in the company when Joel came to ask for a job. He had recently married and got fired from New York Times's graphical where he was working as a machine operator. Joel was the only son of my house's cooky. We kind of grew of together and my father liked him. That's why my father not only gave Joel a new job but he also offered him a lunch. That was the day I saw Sarah after three years. I was surprised. I didn't imagine that an uneducated blue-collar worker could get that beautiful jazz pianist. A beauty married with a beast: such a waste. This aroused my envy and greed. In the spirit of 'helping the young couple', I hired Sarah to give me private piano lessons. It wasn't difficult to seduce her with promises of helping Joel. Instead of my teacher, Sarah turned in my private whore."
"Hijo de puta." I said low and slow.
"I understand your anger, Santana. But don't think I'm the devil takes advantage of innocent people. Sarah knew what she was doing. This affair lasted almost six months until the day Sarah told me she was pregnant and that the kid was mine. Be sincere, Santana: what would you think about a married woman who fucked with me for cash twice a week one day tell me she was pregnant? And I was just started dating Hannah, who was a well-born girl that I really liked. I would never left Hannah for Sarah."
I didn't answer. It couldn't. I refuse to put any critical sense about bubbee and judge her as Weiz wanted.
"I kicked her out that day: she had a husband and he would take care of her. Sarah never called or wanted to see me again. I didn't care. I was dating Hannah, that I loved, and a year later I was a married man. I met Hiram when he was seven years old and Joel came to my father to ask him for help on a new business in Ohio. My father wasn't on good healthy and made me help with the bureaucracy in Weiz Co., so we could fund Joel's dreams. I did it, and my father made a farewell dinner in honor of Joel. That's when I saw Hiram for the first time. The kid looked like Sarah a lot to his luck, but what caught my attention weren't some common traits we shared, but a birthmark. Sarah never got pregnant again and the problem wasn't with her. Joel may not be fertile, which is ironic for a man who always exhaled virility. Hiram was my bastard and this was confirmed by a DNA test decades later.
"Unfortunately tragedies settled in my life. God took my kids and my wife. But Hiram was still alive. He had no businessman profile, moreover was homosexual, which was difficult to me understand. Yet he had two daughters and that one of them has talent for business.
"I come from a traditional family. My grandfather started it all, and my father was shrewd enough to buy his brothers' part and make it grow. I inherited it and also did my part. Unfortunately my three children are six feet under, but I still have somebody to leave a legacy. That's what I want: continuity. If I leave my company in others hands, it will be sliced as soon as I stop breathing. It's not what I want, Santana. It's not the way the history of my family should end. But you're part of it and has an obligation to take care of everything that would be for your father."
"Really?" I shook my head. "Did you do all this to tie me on Weiz Co.?" I started laughing. But it was a bitter outburst.
"That sounds like a joke to you?"
"I'm just thinking of the irony of all things. Of what you did and said before... everything fits. Even so, you failed. It's true that I'm not daddy's biological daughter. I know it every time I look to myself on the mirror. Biologically, I'm a Lopez and a Corcoran, but my heart is both Lopez and Berry. At home, it never mattered. Incidentally, Rachel and I were housed in a place that not only genetic didn't matter but also it wasn't even remembered. Hiram was my daddy and he taught me the important lesson that I never have to take shit from others. Right now, here I am, Santana Berry-Lopez, telling you I don't give a damn about your plans for your company or for your inheritance. I don't give a damn whether or not you recognize my father as your biological son. That's why Joel Berry has always been and will always be my grandfather, my zaide, no matter what blood or genetics say. What I want is that the Weiz Co. explode. Preferably with you in it."
I stood up and started to get my stuff.
"I understand your anger, Santana. What did I just reveal isn't easy. But if you're really smart, you won't turn your back on me. The consequences won't be good."
"Is it a threat, sir?"
"It is advice."
"Well, here my advice for you: stay away from me, from my sister and my family."
I put my stuff in my backpack and walked out of the mansion as fast as I could.
When I got home, Rachel was talking with someone on the phone. She was all dressed as she was also out for some reason. My sister smiled and waved, but I couldn't do the same. I was taken by contradictory feelings that the only thing I could do was cry.
"Santana? What happened?"
I wasn't able to explain right there, but I was glad that Rachel understood and hugged me tight.