Drama Is Her Middle Name by Wendy Williams Page B

was one of the most creative minds in the
business. He found a way to incorporate his interior design
skills into the actual architecture of his buildings. Ivan was
an architectural genius, compared to Frank Lloyd Wright.
    When Ivan left McKenzie & Braxton, many of their clients
followed him. Within that first year, he had more business
than he could handle. He was forced to take on a partner to
pick up the load. He had envisioned himself being right
where he was. But it felt empty. He didn’t have anyone to
share his success with—no children, no wife, no love.
    As Ivan took another glance his old friend smiling on the
cover of
Ebony
, having everything Ivan did not, he took another sip of his champagne and thought, “I guess you
can
have everything.”
    It was a coincidence that Ivan had had his assistant, Morgan, go out and get a copy of
Ebony.
One of Ivan’s prized
works—the Martin Luther King Memorial in Atlanta,
Georgia—was featured in that issue, which happened to have
the Lakes family on the cover. Coincidence? Or fate? Or
maybe it was a sign. Divine intervention. The more Ivan
stared at the picture of Edwin Lakes, the more Ivan got the
notion that it was time to pay an old friend a visit.
    Morgan, a tall woman in her forties with graying blond
hair, was more than an assistant. She was Ivan’s backbone.
She had come with him from McKenzie & Braxton and knew
the business inside out. Of all of the people there, Morgan
was the most valuable, and he knew he needed her if his business was going to start off right. Ivan wanted Morgan. And
Ivan got what Ivan wanted—one way or another.
    â€œMorgan, I need you to arrange an open-ended ticket to
New York and lodging,” he said. “I’m not sure how long I’ll
be gone, but it is important business. Let’s sit down after you
have made the arrangements and put together a priority list
of the things that need to be done in my absence.”
    She left to make the arrangements. Ivan rang her again.
    â€œMorgan, make the flight for this evening, please,” he said.
“I’m leaving now to get some shopping done.”
    Ivan intended to have a good time and needed to have the
right gear if he was going to be checking out the club scene.
He picked the magazine up off the desk and tucked it under
his arm. It would make good reading on the airplane ride to
New York City. Ivan had spent the last four years building his
business. It was time to get his groove back and maybe find a
little religion along the way.

12
    ON THE AIR
    â€œOkay, Mark from Manhattan, the show is about over and
I’m going to have to let you go,” Ritz said in her best, exasperated I-can’t-believe-this-nigga-is-still-talking voice.
    â€œAll I’m saying, Ritz, is that sometimes these hos need a
pimp-slap from they man just so they know we care,” Mark
from Manhattan said. “Don’t you remember your parents disciplining you out of love?”
    â€œUhhh! Mark, we have to go! I have to go and you most
certainly
have
to go! I am unfortunately out of time. I love
you for listening!” Ritz gave the signal and Snoop Dogg’s
“Drop It Like It’s Hot” brought her show to a close. The song
was old, but the beat was timeless and the message that her
show would be eternally hot could never be lost.
    As soon as the red “On Air” sign shut off, the studio
erupted into laughter. Everyone was laughing except Ritz.
She was in one of her moods. Was it melancholy? Was she
antsy? She couldn’t put her finger on it. Jamie and Chas ignored her. They had learned to do that because recently they
never knew what kind of shade Ritz would be throwing from
day to day. She was turning into a real diva—attitude and all.
Aaron and Chas and now Jamie worked hard to keep the ambience of the studio fun. Ritz could be so over the top that
they needed to keep the