The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(32)

The host pushed open the door and preceded Douglass into a private dining room with red marble floors, red walls, and circular tables covered with red cloths. There were only five tables. Kanye and his girlfriend Kim were seated at one of them, far across the room from Rita Mae’s table.

She rose from her seat, smiling vastly, as Fredrick strolled toward her. He handed her the bouquet of roses, hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, and then took a step back to admire her form-fitting, peach-colored cocktail dress and the beautiful buxom and steatopygic body it concealed.

“Mmm mmm mmm…God is good,” Fredrick murmured in his throbbing baritone. He studied her dark brown face as they sat down across from each other. “You look stunning, Rita. I see where Alexus got her looks.”

“Thank you.” She sniffed the roses before setting them aside. “You look amazing, as well. I like your little bow tie, too. It’s cute.”

Fredrick grinned appreciatively. “That dress—it fits you perfectly.”

“Squeezing my big behind into it was struggle,” she sheepishly admitted, “but I’ve taken a liking to Dolce & Gabbana’s new cocktail dresses. I’ve been wearing them a lot lately, especially on the show.”

“If there is no struggle there is no progress,” Douglass said, picking up a menu. “What are you eating?”

“I’ve already ordered our meal. Lobster crab cakes and a bottle of Armand de Brignac.”

“No dessert?”

She shook her head no. “I’m on a diet. Alexus and Blake’s wedding is coming up soon, and I don’t want to bust out of my dress while they’re reciting their vows.”

They shared a laugh as a slim black waiter arrived with their food. He popped open the bottle of Ace of Spades and filled their champagne glasses with the costly intoxicant.

“Anything else?” He asked.

“That’ll be all,” Rita Mae told him, and he walked back out of the room.

“So,” Fredrick asked, “how’s your day been? How’s the corporate world treating you?”

“I can’t complain. Costilla Corporation is now worth nineteen and a half billion dollars, which means we’re worth more than Viacom, CBS, and CC Media Holdings. Only entertainment businesses with more revenue than us are Time Warner, Walt Disney, and News Corp. And I don’t know how my daughter’s stock investors are doing it, but somehow they’re gambling her billions in the stock market and winning every time. She’s made fourteen billion in the past two months alone.”

Fredrick blew a stream of air from between his lips, and his eyebrows ascended to his forehead. “Fourteen billion dollars in two months?”

“I know—sounds impossible, doesn’t it? I’m still finding it hard to believe that my daughter is now the wealthiest person on Earth. There is no way one person should have seventy six billion dollars. Definitely not a twenty year old. She’s been blowing money on everything she can find. Just yesterday she spent a hundred and twenty five million on a mansion in South Beach simply because it belonged to Versace. And the crazy part about it is she’s down in Miami right now, she hasn’t even gone and looked at the place.”

Fredrick took a bite of his crab cake. It was warm and tasty.

“Well, look at it like this,” he reasoned. “The U.S. economy was built upon the blood of our African ancestors. Up until the nineteen sixties, almost a hundred percent of American capital was owned and controlled by whites who lynched and robbed our ancestors for fun, and the government has yet to even apologize, let alone compensate our families for all the free labor they got out of us. Alexus deserves every dime of that money, if you ask me. There would be at least one or two hundred black millionaires in America today if we were given our proper share of the pie. Half of Hollywood would be populated with blacks.”

“You sure are right about that,” Rita Mae said, nodding. “Are you coming to the first annual MTN Music Awards on the tenth? Blake’s nominated for album of the year, best new artist, best collaboration for that song he did with T.I. and Lil’ Wayne, and video of the year for “Lime-Green Bugatti.” He’s supposed to be performing.”

“Of course I’ll be there. The whole MBM team will be there. We have two other artists nominated for awards, too. Mocha’s up for best female R&B artist, and Lil Meech is nominated for mix-tape of the year. Plus, Mary J.’s performing, and there’s no way I’d miss that. Blake’s also performing at the BET Awards on July first. He’s nominated for three BET Awards.”

Rita Mae was nodding again, poking her fork at the crab cake. For a long moment she said nothing; then; “You know, I’m actually kind of proud of Blake. I honestly thought his record company would fail miserably, and I was certain his album was going to flop. He’s doing pretty good, though.”

“Yeah. He just signed four more rap artists, a female R&B group, and a pop singer from the UK. And Heart of a Taurus, Mocha’s sophomore album, will be released this Friday. Blake’s a phenomenal CEO, Rita. Truly amazing.”

“I see that now,” Rita Mae sighed. “I just wish he was more like Trintino Walkson.”

“T-Walk?” Fredrick frowned.

“Yeah. Trintino dresses like a businessman is supposed to dress. And he’s making a good name for himself in the entertainment industry. He’s being compared to industry moguls like Tyler Perry and Ryan Seacrest, and Blake’s more like Birdman, or Rick Ross. Always talking about guns, money, drugs, and jewelry. Always hanging around gangsters. I cannot for the life of me understand how a black man with over a half a billion dollars in the bank could still hang out in poor neighborhoods with thugs who’d rather sell poison to their people than go out and find a job.”