she really hoped she would work out. She liked the fresh-out-of-college, ready-for-the-world energy that Sue exuded. And, so far, Sue was working just fine, keeping up with all the extra hours Maritza put in.
“You can send him in, Sue, and you can leave for the day. I’ll let you know if I need you tomorrow, but I can probably manage alone. Since it’s Sunday, I might work from home. So I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Thanks, Ms. Morales. Enjoy the rest of your weekend and I’ll see you on Monday, unless you need me tomorrow.” Sue smiled and left the room.
Maritza liked that Sue seemed open to coming in whenever needed, even if it was a Sunday. In the personal stylist and image consultant business there really wasn’t a definite nine-to-five schedule. You had to be there when your clients needed you. Period. All kinds of weekend events that required the perfect ensemble, and blow ups that needed the perfect media spin or cover story, dictated when they had to work and for how long.
“So I finally get to meet the infamous Maritza Morales. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe…”
Maritza looked up to find the truly infamous white hip-hop artist Andrew “Speed-Lo” MacGregor gracing her office door. If New Images by Keys and Morales decided to take him on, he would be their biggest client to date and probably their biggest challenge. Saying his reputation preceded him was a gross understatement. His controversial lyrics about killing his ex-wife and mother, his notorious substance abuse issues and neverending beefs with other rap artists had quickly changed him from hip-hop’s great white hope to its ultimate bad boy not soon after his first multiplatinum-selling CD.
He sauntered into her office and stood in front of her crisp white desk holding out his hand. She looked up and the first thing she thought was that he was much taller in person than he appeared on television. And the second thing she thought was, how can this suave strawberry-blond, green-eyed man with a dusting of freckles on his nose be such a menace to society? He was like what would happen if someone placed hardcore rapper DMX inside Happy Days’ Richie Cunningham’s body—a walking, talking conundrum if she ever saw one.
She came around the desk to shake his hand and he pulled her into a hug.
Awkward.
She pulled away and shook her finger at him. “This is exactly why your reputation is in dire need of New Images by Keys and Morales, Mr. MacGregor.”
He winked at her as he stepped away and took a seat in one of the white leather swivel chairs in front of her desk. She sat back down behind the desk and studied him carefully.
“Half of what people say about me is all lies,” he protested with a cocky grin.
“Ah…but that other half…” Maritza couldn’t help but smile. “Here’s the thing, Mr. MacGregor—”
“Please call me Andrew,” he implored.
“Okay, Andrew. Here’s the thing. I’m not sure that New Images by Keys and Morales can do a lot to help you with your image, especially if you keep making songs about killing your ex-wife and mother. I mean, with the ex-wife songs we might be able to find a way to get you to do some anti-domestic violence PSAs—”
“Hey, I never ever put a hand on Tiff. Those songs are just creative therapy…”
“Yeah, creative therapy that promotes violence against women.” Maritza couldn’t help sucking her teeth. She was Sharon Morales’s daughter after all. She might not practice her mother’s feminism all the time, but she was enough of a feminist’s daughter to have serious issues with his music.
“It is just music. I’m not telling anyone to go out there and kill their wives.”
“Yeah…right…in any case, a couple of well-placed public service announcements and some donations to women’s shelters could help with that.” She gave him a stern look. “ Help, not totally fix…”
She paused. She didn’t want to give away all of her plans for
“You can send him in, Sue, and you can leave for the day. I’ll let you know if I need you tomorrow, but I can probably manage alone. Since it’s Sunday, I might work from home. So I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Thanks, Ms. Morales. Enjoy the rest of your weekend and I’ll see you on Monday, unless you need me tomorrow.” Sue smiled and left the room.
Maritza liked that Sue seemed open to coming in whenever needed, even if it was a Sunday. In the personal stylist and image consultant business there really wasn’t a definite nine-to-five schedule. You had to be there when your clients needed you. Period. All kinds of weekend events that required the perfect ensemble, and blow ups that needed the perfect media spin or cover story, dictated when they had to work and for how long.
“So I finally get to meet the infamous Maritza Morales. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe…”
Maritza looked up to find the truly infamous white hip-hop artist Andrew “Speed-Lo” MacGregor gracing her office door. If New Images by Keys and Morales decided to take him on, he would be their biggest client to date and probably their biggest challenge. Saying his reputation preceded him was a gross understatement. His controversial lyrics about killing his ex-wife and mother, his notorious substance abuse issues and neverending beefs with other rap artists had quickly changed him from hip-hop’s great white hope to its ultimate bad boy not soon after his first multiplatinum-selling CD.
He sauntered into her office and stood in front of her crisp white desk holding out his hand. She looked up and the first thing she thought was that he was much taller in person than he appeared on television. And the second thing she thought was, how can this suave strawberry-blond, green-eyed man with a dusting of freckles on his nose be such a menace to society? He was like what would happen if someone placed hardcore rapper DMX inside Happy Days’ Richie Cunningham’s body—a walking, talking conundrum if she ever saw one.
She came around the desk to shake his hand and he pulled her into a hug.
Awkward.
She pulled away and shook her finger at him. “This is exactly why your reputation is in dire need of New Images by Keys and Morales, Mr. MacGregor.”
He winked at her as he stepped away and took a seat in one of the white leather swivel chairs in front of her desk. She sat back down behind the desk and studied him carefully.
“Half of what people say about me is all lies,” he protested with a cocky grin.
“Ah…but that other half…” Maritza couldn’t help but smile. “Here’s the thing, Mr. MacGregor—”
“Please call me Andrew,” he implored.
“Okay, Andrew. Here’s the thing. I’m not sure that New Images by Keys and Morales can do a lot to help you with your image, especially if you keep making songs about killing your ex-wife and mother. I mean, with the ex-wife songs we might be able to find a way to get you to do some anti-domestic violence PSAs—”
“Hey, I never ever put a hand on Tiff. Those songs are just creative therapy…”
“Yeah, creative therapy that promotes violence against women.” Maritza couldn’t help sucking her teeth. She was Sharon Morales’s daughter after all. She might not practice her mother’s feminism all the time, but she was enough of a feminist’s daughter to have serious issues with his music.
“It is just music. I’m not telling anyone to go out there and kill their wives.”
“Yeah…right…in any case, a couple of well-placed public service announcements and some donations to women’s shelters could help with that.” She gave him a stern look. “ Help, not totally fix…”
She paused. She didn’t want to give away all of her plans for
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