to a series of questions, or just plain wanting his insight. This was partly his fault. He’d purposely mapped his life so that every moment of the day was strategically planned. He liked to make the most of every minute. He had to. There were simply too many people who worked for him to keep track of it all without relying on a rhythm to the madness. Yes, it was often madness. And yes, there was a definite rhythm to it.
Tossing his phone on the bed, he headed into the bathroom. Once showered and clean-shaven, he entered his expansive closet. After surveying the array of neatly hung expensive suits, he selected a pair of black slacks, matching jacket and a dark dress shirt. He triggered his phone to play his messages on speaker, so he could listen while he dressed. There were only a handful of people who knew his mobile number. And Elliot was particular about returning calls in a timely manner.
Message 1: “Elliot, it’s Nick Sinclair. I’ll be in Miami soon. I thought you ought to know. I’ll call you later with details. Tell Lucinda I said hello.”
Message 2: “This is Nico. Three words: Matrix. Party. Tonight.”
Message 3: “Hi Elliot. This is Daria. I’ll be in Miami on the twenty first for a photo shoot. I’ll be there for the entire weekend. [giggle] I’d love to see you again. Call me.”
Message 4: “Hey, Elliot. It’s Eddie. Don’t forget we have the financial meeting at three this afternoon. I think you’ll find the marketing budget interesting.”
Elliot considered the messages, making note of the order in which he would return each call. He’d grinned when he’d listened to Nico’s cryptic message. Nico could always be counted on for a good laugh. The mention of Matrix throwing another one of his parties was good reason to call Nico back first.
Afterward, Elliot planned to call Nick Sinclair, another longtime friend. The two spoke often on the phone, but due to the fact they lived on opposite coasts, they rarely saw each other. He wondered what would bring Nick to Miami this time of the year. Regardless, it would be nice to see his old friend again. Elliot made a mental note to call his comrade as soon as possible. As for Eddie, there was no need to return his call. Elliot would see Eddie within the hour.
Daria was another issue. Her trips to Miami seemed to be coming more frequently. He would have to talk to her about this. If she was forming expectations about their arrangement, he would have to set the record straight.
Now dressed, Elliot shot a fleeting glance toward his bed as he left the room. Equipped with the news Nico had delivered, it was doubtful he’d be sleeping in his own bed tonight.
Romero was waiting for him in the foyer. Elliot was pleased to hear the house was silent; hence, the women were gone. Romero tossed him his car keys. Wordlessly, Elliot stepped onto the sprawling patio which wrapped around the front of his home. Elliot hit the key fob dangling from his keychain, and the headlights of a shiny black Porsche lit up. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he turned the ignition, pausing only long enough for Romero to sling into the passenger seat. Throwing the car into first gear, pebbles kicked up as Elliot sped off Star Island.
A short time later, they pulled in front of a four-story building. On its broad side, a large sign read Club Babylon in sleek silver letters. On a typical night, the street would be lined with cars, and the sidewalks crowded with eager partygoers. But it was daylight, many hours before the club opened for business. Parking steps from he front entrance, Elliot tossed his car keys to Romero and strolled into the inside like he owned the place; which he did.
* * *
With Romero close on his heels, Elliot crossed the now empty dance floors, and jogged up the steps which led to his office. It was a large airy room, with stylish low-slung furniture and many shiny surfaces. It was positioned in a corner of the building. The architecture enabled it to jut out at an angle so that it was suspended over the main dance floor. With three of the walls made of glass, it allowed Elliot an unfiltered view of the club. Presently, the room glowed a dreamy orange hue, a reflection from the stage mood lights; and a clear indication the technicians were testing the lights before showtime.
There was a cluster of men waiting for Elliot when he arrived. He nodded to each before taking a seat behind his desk. He punched a series of numbers on his speaker phone, and instantly two investors were conferenced into the meeting.
“Hello, everyone,” Elliot began. “Let’s not waste time. We have a lot to cover in a few short hours.” He looked down at his watch. “It’s 3:00 p.m. now. We can break for lunch around six.” He turned to a thin, freckle-faced man seated on a sofa across from him. “Eddie, where do we stand with the financials? I want cost analysis for the added security, transportation and entertainment. Let’s hold off on the marketing for now. We need to make sure we can handle the traffic we currently bring in.” Inclining his head toward Eddie, he said, “Please begin.”
New York City
11:35PM
Thandie stepped out of the limo to see the line outside the club was so long it wrapped around the corner. The rowdy group traveling with her filed out behind her. Two of her assistants, Len Harris and Amanda Karl, were working the front door, checking in VIP and special guests. They both waved at Thandie frantically.
“Wow, I’m glad to see you!” Amanda shouted over the crowd. “Working the door is crazy business. It’s not ever midnight yet, and we’re already close to capacity. Craig keeps threatening to shut the door, but I have thirty people on the list who haven’t shown yet.”
There was a time when Thandie would have had a meltdown over such news, but after five years in the business and many clients later she had dealt with bigger problems. Amanda had only worked for her for a year, and though she was very attentive and detail-oriented she often panicked during showtime.
“Let me see the list.” Thandie scanned the sheet. Amanda was right. If these people showed up, they had to be let in. She checked her watch. “Keep a sharp eye out. I want them escorted in immediately. Leave Craig to me.”
“Good,” Len said, “because he told me he wants you to come see him as soon as you arrive.”
Fighting back the urge to groan, Thandie nodded her head.
Recognizing her, the bouncer waved her towards the entrance, causing the long line of people to watch her curiously. When it came to New York’s nightlife, Thandie Shaw held the master key to almost every VIP room in the city. And that made her a hot commodity. She was currently marketing several clubs at once, and she was doing it with great flair. Celebrities loved her and the cameras adored her. But she couldn’t do it alone. Between sending press releases, creating VIP lists, and making sure the right people were at the right place, having assistants was a must.
Turning her attention to her guests, Thandie ushered her group inside the club.
A woman in line recognized the man standing beside Thandie and started screaming. This created a wave of screams as word soon spread that actor Ruark Randall from the hit cop show, LA Homicide, was there.
Thandie ushered Ruark and the rest of his party through the door. As soon as they cleared the threshold, Thandie spied another one of her employees, Raja Travis, across the room. Tall and exquitsite, Raja was doing an excellent job of working the room, making sure everyone was having a good time. This was a must in their line of business.
