Читать книгу Love Me or Leave Me - Gwynne Forster, Gwynne Forster - Страница 9

This must be my day, Drake thought as Pamela’s head lolled on his shoulder while she laughed hysterically. “Everybody must to get off from street,” the on-screen Russian sailor said to the old woman in his broken English as he pretended to be a representative of the local authorities. His submarine had accidentally surfaced off Nantucket, and he and his fellow sailors were trying to get back to it without causing an international incident.

“Did you really enjoy it so much?” he asked her as they left the theater. “I confess I’ve seen it a dozen times, beginning when I was a teenager, and I’ve laughed as hard each time I’ve seen it as I did the first time.”

They walked out swinging their locked hands, and through out the drive to the apartment building in which she lived, they reminisced about the movie, laughing at the funny parts. He walked with her to her apartment door, uncertain as to how he wanted to end the evening, though he knew lovemaking or the suggestion of it would be a mistake.

She proved the wisdom of his intuition when she said, “This evening was very special. Do you still need breathing space?”

Unprepared for the question, but aware that she had a penchant for candidness, he took his time answering. “I don’t remember having equivocated about anything of importance to me, but how I answer your question could have a powerful effect on my life. I like being with you, and I want to see you, but right now, that’s as far as I can go.”

She laid her head to one side and looked hard at him, so much so that she nearly unnerved him. “That isn’t far enough for me, Drake. Limbo isn’t a place where I would knowingly go. I realize that you need to assure yourself that you have a firm grip on your future, that you’re managing your life’s course, and I respect that, but I also have to manage mine. You can start a family when you’re sixty, but I don’t have that option.”

Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek and dazzled him with the smile that showed a half dimple in her right cheek. “If the tide was moving in the right direction, you could mean everything to me. But it isn’t, and I’m not going to wait for you to make up your mind. Good night.”

He told her good-night, and as he walked down the hall to the elevator, it was as if the weight of his feet dragged him along. He heard the lock turn on her door and swung around, wanting with all his heart to turn back and find solace in her arms. But he comforted himself with the thought that what he needed was a good rest, a chance to empty his head of work and of the minutiae cluttering his life, a chance to focus on what was important to him personally.

He had planned to spend the night with Russ, but changed his mind and headed for Eagle Park. He got home after midnight, and it surprised him to find Telford and Alexis sitting in the den watching a movie. He was tempted to slip by and go to his room. He had never been less willing to share himself with another person. But that was not the way of the Harrington brothers, so he went into the den, mixed a Scotch whiskey and soda, and joined Telford and Alexis.

“I hardly expected you back tonight,” Telford said. “I hope all’s well.”

He pulled out the hassock from beneath his chair and propped his feet on it. “Let’s put it this way. For now, at least, everything depends on me. But she’s not waiting while I figure out where I’m going.”

“I always thought you were the most resolute person imaginable,” Alexis said. “Do you have misgivings about her?”

“That’s one of the things about this that perplexes me,” he said. “She’s the kind of woman I want. Nothing’s wrong with her, and she suits me, but still I seem willing to risk losing her. I don’t think that any woman I want will be available to me, nor do I believe I’ll meet another one like Pamela, at least not soon. I guess the problem is that there is unspoken pressure on me to fall in love and get married. Nobody’s said it, but all this marital and soon-to-be marital bliss is making me feel that I’m missing a lot. I can see the difference in you and in Russ, and I also want to feel equally secure with the woman who’s special to me.” He threw up his hands. “Oh, what the hell. I guess I’m just not ready to settle down.”

“So she told you she won’t wait while you shilly-shally?” Telford asked, pushing the needle where he knew it would hurt, for Drake prided himself in his ability to think through a problem, come to a decision and act on it without equivocating.

Drake spread his legs, leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “You could say that.”

“Man, I hope she doesn’t settle on someone else.”

“I hope for her sake that she does,” Alexis said, causing both men to sit upright and stare at her. “If she wants children, she’d better do something about it, or she will forever regret it. A man can’t possibly understand the instinct that makes women want to be mothers.”

“I know it’s powerful,” Drake said. He wished he’d gone directly to his room. Alexis was right, but knowing that caused a cloud of weariness to settle over him. “I think I’ll be getting to bed,” he said. “Thanks for the company.” He plodded up the wide, winding stairs, his mind on Pamela and how he’d felt earlier that evening at the door of her apartment. And he thought back to the times she had caressed him so sweetly and so lovingly—asking nothing and demanding nothing—and he’d felt as if he could move mountains.

He reached the landing and banged his fist on the railing. “What the hell’s wrong with me? I know damned well I don’t want any other man to have that woman.” But did he love her? “Hell, I’m not going there,” he said to himself. “If I do love her, I’ll probably act like it.”

After a shower, he dried his body and slid between the leopard-print sheets that he preferred. “The day will come, I hope, when I look back at this time and laugh at myself.” He turned out the light and went to sleep.

At that moment, Pamela worried less about Drake’s decision than he did. She had made up her mind to relegate him to her past and look for a man with whom she could build a life. She loved him, and she believed in his integrity, but he’d already killed enough time. Long after telling him good-night and, in effect, goodbye, she sat on the edge of her bed trying to deal with her inner conflict and her sense that their song hadn’t played out.

But I can’t go on like this. I need someone I can count on, a man who will give me the family I long for.

“Oh, Lord,” she moaned. “Why did I have to fall in love with him?”

Refusing to succumb to the moroseness that threatened her, she went into the living room and put on Jump for Joy, a compact disc that she bought in Paris two years earlier. Where but in Paris would one find the music of Josephine Baker, who died decades earlier? Pamela never failed to dance to that music, and she danced then. Danced until she fell across her living-room sofa exhausted. Danced until the tears cascaded down her cheeks like water from a broken dam. She lay there for a few minutes, getting used to the pain, then got up from the sofa, splashed cold water on her face and laughed.

“Drake Harrington, you’re the only man who can lay claim to making me cry, and, honey, you’re the last one.”

Awaking the next morning to the ringing of the telephone, she slammed the pillow over her head, dragged the blanket up to her neck and got more comfortable. The ringing persisted, and she reached from beneath the covers to knock the phone from its cradle, but missed and bruised her hand against the lamp.

“All right,” she grumbled and sat up. “Hello.”

“You still in bed? Sorry to wake you up. I know it’s Saturday, but I thought you’d be up and around. I called to remind you that Tuesday is your mother’s birthday,” her father said, “so don’t forget. You know how she loves her birthdays. We don’t expect you to come down here during the week. Just call.”

“I’d be there if I could get off, Daddy. How are you and Mama?”

“We’re good.” His deep and musical voice had always given her a feeling of security, as did the strength he projected with every word he spoke, even when he was being amusing. “We watched you on the national news the other night. First time we saw you on camera. I can’t tell you how proud we were. I opened a bottle of champagne, and we congratulated ourselves on what we’d created.” Laughter rumbled out of him, the self-deprecating and mischievous laughter that she loved so much.

“Bob Kramer had an emergency, and the producer grabbed me the last minute and said, ‘You’re on.’ How did I do?”

“Great. You don’t think I’d open my best champagne to commemorate a flop, do you? We’re proud of you. It was first-class.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

“And you looked great in that red suit. Where’s that engineer you were talking about? Isn’t it about time he spoke to me?”

“That may never happen, Daddy. There’s something real good between us, but… Well, he isn’t ready.”

“From all you said about him, he’s probably a good man, but if he isn’t ready, move on. A lot of first-class white guys would flip backward over you. I keep telling you that.”

“I know, Daddy. I know. Where’s Mama? Let me speak with her, please.”

“She’s at the hairdresser’s.”

“Well, give her a hug for me. I’ll be sure to call her Tuesday.”

She hung up and got out of bed. Her father wanted her to marry a man who, like himself, was white, but the last thing she wanted was a marriage complicated by the social problems that her parents faced. Besides, she was attracted to black men. Her father could hardly be called prejudiced considering that he’d married an African-American woman and embraced her entire family. Pamela tossed her head as if in defiance and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. He married the person he wanted—and against his family’s wishes, I might add—and, if I get the chance, I’ll do the same. As soon as she got to her office, she phoned a florist and ordered flowers for her mother, specifying that they arrive Tuesday morning.

Shortly before noon on Saturday, Russ arrived at Harrington House—the place where his room always awaited him—with Velma Brighton, his bride-to-be and Alexis’s older sister. Weeks had passed since Drake and his two older brothers had been together, and it seemed to him almost like Christmas as they greeted each other with the customary embrace. He loved his brothers and welcomed the women of their choice as he would have blood sisters.

“Only three more months,” Drake said to Velma. “How do you keep Russ’s feet on the ground?”

Velma winked, displaying the wickedness that he associated with her dry humor. “With patience.”

“Not so,” Russ said. “I’m a changed man. I wait till the light turns completely green before I enter the inter section.”

“I never knew you to do otherwise,” Telford said.

“Was he always like this?” Velma asked, standing against Russ with his arms snug around her.

“Always,” Henry put in. “Ain’t a one of these boys changed one bit since they were little. Instead of being an impatient kid, Russ is an impatient man.” He rubbed his chin as if savoring a pleasant thought. “But I’ll say it right in front of him. He’s as solid as they come.”

Although Henry had worked as the family’s cook since Drake was five years old, Drake and his brothers regarded him as a member of the family who did most of the cooking. Long before their father’s death, it was Henry to whom they looked for guidance and nurturing, for Josh Harrington worked long hours to build a life for his children and to ensure their status in Midwestern Maryland. They couldn’t count on their mother—a woman who didn’t want to be tied down and who left home for lengthy periods of time whenever it suited her—to be there when they needed her. So they turned to Henry, who treated them as if they were his own children.

Henry’s pride in the three men was obvious to anyone who knew the family. Indeed, acknowledging his role as a father figure to the Harrington men, Alexis had asked Henry to escort her down the aisle at her wedding to Telford, for which she earned his gratitude and deepening love.

“You got all your wedding plans straight?” Henry asked Velma. “Let me know if you need me for anything.”

“I wish I had me to do the catering,” she said, and not in jest, for she had achieved wide fame as a caterer of grand affairs. “And I just found out that one of my bridesmaids is almost four months pregnant and showing. Since I have a matron of honor, I don’t know what to do with her. In three months, she’ll be over six months and even bigger than she is now. Other than that, everything’s fine.”

“Aren’t you going to replace her?” Alexis asked. “She’s got a lot of chutzpah to spring a late pregnancy on a bride.”

“Not to worry,” Velma said, “I’ll think of something. For the last three days, I’ve been lecturing to myself that she doesn’t deserve any more consideration than she’s giving me, but…she’s a friend.”

Drake listened for Russ to tell Velma that what that bridesmaid was proposing to do was unacceptable, but Russ said nothing, and he wondered at the change in his brother. Time was when Russ would have pronounced that the woman be excluded, and in a tone so final that his bride-to-be wouldn’t dare object.

Later, as the three men sat together in the den discussing the advisability of entering into a contract with the Ghana interior minister to build a shopping mall, Drake observed the calm and assurance with which Russ accepted Telford’s rejection of one of his ideas, where months earlier, he would have complained that his two brothers always got their wishes because they voted together. On this occasion, Russ merely said, “What’s your reason?” then listened and nodded his approval.

She’s all the balm Russ’s ego needs, Drake thought. She’s good for him. Again, the memory returned of those moments with Pamela’s arms around him, teasing him, and how like a king he felt when she unashamedly adored him.

Henry looked into the den. “Drake, did you see the mail I put on yer desk?”

“I haven’t looked at that desk since I’ve been back here. Thanks.”

“I’d like to know who scrambled yer brain,” Henry said. “If it’s who I think it was, you shoulda been home Friday night before last when she called ya.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said to his brothers, bounded up the stairs and went to his room. He dug through a week of mail and found the one thing he didn’t care to see: the tiny, stingy handwriting of Selicia Dennis. Although tempted to throw it away without opening it, he decided to read it.

Dear Drake,

I’m sorry that we haven’t hit it off. I fear I’ve misrepresented myself to you. Doris Sackefyio was kind enough to give me your address, and I’m apologizing if I made a nuisance of myself. I’m enclosing two tickets to the memorial jazz concert at the Kennedy Center next month. I hope you’ll use the second ticket to take me with you.

Warmly, Selicia

He noted that she included her phone number, but not her email address. He put the tickets in an envelope, debated whether to enclose a note, decided not to and sealed it. To be sure that she got it, he would send the letter by certified mail, return-receipt requested. Feeling the need to be outside and alone, he put on a storm jacket, stopped by the den to tell his brothers he’d see them later and walked out toward the Monocacy River. If he encountered a living being, at least it wouldn’t be able to talk.

On Monday, having convinced herself that she should attend a luncheon of industry professionals, Pamela found herself seated beside a likable man who obviously had the respect and—she thought—the envy of his peers. Oscar Rankin—tall, handsome, fortysomething, white—had the veneer of success wrapped securely around him. He set his cap for Pamela and made no effort to hide his interest. She’d heard of Oscar Rankin—who hadn’t?

“Would you like more wine?” he asked her. When she rejected the wine and his other offer to be of service to her, he changed tactics. “I saw you on the national evening broadcast a few nights ago,” he said, “and you brought that show to life. Of course, looking as you did—stunningly beautiful with a no-nonsense attitude—would captivate any sensible man.” In a subtle and innocuous way, he managed to claim her attention throughout the luncheon.

“Let me help you with that.” She looked up and saw him beside her at the cloakroom window, and before she could discourage him, he was holding her coat for her. Mildly irritated, she asked him, “What do you want, Mr. Rankin?”

With a diffidence that she didn’t believe was real, he shrugged slightly and let a smile flash across his face. “You shouldn’t ask a man that question unless you want the answer. I want to get to know you, because you’ve got me damned near besotted, and I’ve only known you an hour and a half.”

She stared at him for a full minute in disbelief, but his facial expression didn’t waver. For reasons she didn’t fathom and didn’t try, laughter floated out of her. “Are you serious?”

“As serious as I’ve ever been in my life. Have dinner with me this evening.”

She released a long breath. He didn’t look one bit like the father of her children, because they would have dark brown, sleepy and long-lashed eyes. Harrington eyes. “Not this evening. I’m busy.”

“Tomorrow evening. Before you give me the brush-off, get to know me. If I come up short, I’ll take my medicine and graciously step aside.”

Talk about self-confidence! “Where do you want us to meet?”

“At your front door. Where do you live?”

His directness reminded her of boardroom tactics. He’d have to learn that she wouldn’t roll over for him. “We’ll do it my way this time. Where may I meet you?”

He looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Are you married?”

“No, I am not. Are you?”

“Definitely not.” With that remark, she heard the implication that he wasn’t planning to marry anytime soon.

“Well?” she asked, letting him know that she’d stated her position and that the next move was his.

“I acquiesce to your wishes.” However, both his faint smile and his demeanor told her that acquiescing was not a thing with which he’d had much familiarity. “Meet me at Le Cheval Blanc. Seven o’clock. I do hope you will extend me the courtesy of seeing you safely home.”

She let a quick grin suffice for an answer. “See you tomorrow evening at seven.”

He was punctual, as she knew he would be, and he rose and went to greet her as she followed the maître d’ to his table. He thanked the maître d’ and tipped him, then leaned down and brushed her cheek with his lips. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“I try to keep my word. I’ve always liked this restaurant. It’s one of the most elegant in town. Thanks for choosing it.” She wondered why he seemed crestfallen and asked him, “Did I say something wrong?”

“No. I suppose I’m disappointed that you know the place well. I had hoped to give you a unique experience, but I imagine a woman like you has been treated to everything special that Baltimore has to offer.”

She chose not to answer. She hadn’t seen it all, but that wasn’t his business. She soon decided that he was most comfortable talking about himself, his ideas and his accomplishments, and she let him do that. She didn’t find him offensive, but he didn’t appeal to her, so she decided to settle for a pleasant evening with him, and whenever he made a joke, she laughed.

The evening passed pleasantly enough, and when they stood in front of her apartment door, her one thought was of gratitude that Mike, her favorite doorman, was not on duty. “You’re pleasant to be with, and I would like to spend a lot of time with you. Did I make any headway with you?” Oscar asked her. “I have a sense that, while I didn’t strike out, I haven’t gotten to first base. I won’t ask if there’s someone else. Just tell me if he’s special to you.”

How was she to answer that? “There is someone, and he is very special.”

He grasped her hand, looked at her ring finger and shook his head as if perplexed. “I hope he knows what a lucky man he is. If I were special to you, I’d do something about it.”

“Thank you, and thank you for a very lovely evening.”

He gazed down at her until she had to struggle not to fidget. “Forgive me. That was rude, but you’re so beautiful. Goodbye.”

She went inside and closed her apartment door. Had she gone out with Oscar Rankin because of her father’s nagging? If so, her libido, or whatever caused her to be attracted to men, proved more reliable than filial regard for her father’s wishes. But why couldn’t she like him? It wasn’t as if he were like Lawrence Parker. She checked her phone messages, didn’t have one from Drake, flipped off the machine and got ready for bed.

“There’re other men, and I am going to be attracted to at least one of them,” she said aloud. “Drake Harrington is not the only man I can like.” Then, in her mind’s eye, she could see him leaning against the doorjamb of her front door, his height of six feet, four inches nearly reaching the top of the door frame. She pictured him relaxed and lithe, his long-lashed dark brown eyes glittering with some pleasant thought and a smile on his incredibly handsome face. And every time he laughed, really laughed, the look of him reduced her to putty. Mesmerized.

Maybe it wasn’t intended that such a man should give himself to one woman. “He’s trouble,” Rhoda had said to her the last time they lunched together. “Every woman who sees him will be after him.” However, Drake seemed to have no grandiose notions about himself. And although Rhoda swore that Drake was a stud, that he’d go after any woman who showed an interest in him, she knew better.

“I’m going to join the Urban League, the NAACP, and I’m going on the next Million Man March,” she said aloud, and then laughed at herself, for she knew she wouldn’t do any of that. She crawled into bed and fought for sleep.

Several mornings after that, Drake entered the construction site of the Josh Harrington–Fentress Sparkman Memorial Houses in Frederick, Maryland, that honored his late father and uncle. As the project’s engineer, he planned to check the pipes that had been installed up to the first floor, and arrived early so as to complete the inspection before noon that day. A series of strange noises got his attention, and he followed the sounds to an area where boards were measured and cut.

“What the devil are you doing in here?” he asked a small boy who held pieces of wood that should have been too heavy for him to carry.

The child stood before him clutching the boards, his body shaking. “I…uh. You’re not going to put me in jail, are you?”

“This is a hard-hat area. Something could fall on you and kill you. What’s your name?”

“Pete. Pete Jergens. Are you going to call the police?”

“No. How old are you?” He noticed that the boy still held the pieces of wood close to his body. “Well?”

“I’m nine, sir.”

Hmm. Good manners. Drake took the boy by the arm and walked with him out to the van that bore the legend Harrington, Inc.: Builders, Architects and Engineers. “Get in here. You and I are going to talk.”

“But can I go home first, sir? My mom will be worried about me, and I have to be at school by eight-thirty.”

“What are you going to do with that wood?”

The boy held his head down as if ashamed. “Cook breakfast, sir.”

He stared at the child. “With wood? You have a kitchen stove that burns wood?”

“No, sir. We have a gas stove, but the gas was turned off, so we have to cook in the fireplace.”

His whistle split the air. “Where’s your father?”

“My dad’s in jail. A man called him the n-word, and he beat him up so bad the man had to go to the hospital.”

“How many sisters and brothers do you have?”

“Four. I’m the oldest. Can I go now, sir? Please. I’ll be late for school.”

“I’ll drive you home. Where do you live?”

Drake drove the three and a half blocks thanking God that he didn’t grow up in an environment where broken glass littered the streets, cars had to skirt automobile tires, boarded-up houses lined every block and the stench of refuse offended one’s nose. He parked the truck, locked it and walked with Pete to the house.

“What are you going to do?” the boy asked him.

“I’m going to get that gas stove turned on.” He imagined that the children were nearly frozen. “Call your mother to the door.”

“Mom. Mom, can you come here? My new friend wants to see you.” He realized the boy referred to him as a friend so as not to alarm his mother.

Stella Jergens, a tiny woman little more than five feet and one inch tall, appeared at the door and gazed up at him. “Please don’t punish him for stealing the boards. If we didn’t have them, we would freeze, and I couldn’t cook.”

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t countenance stealing. But he was trying to help you.” He looked at the boy. “Next time you have a problem like this one, go to the social-service center on Franklin Street.”

After getting information on the name and location of the utilities company, he gave the woman three twenty-dollar bills and drove Pete to school. “Get some milk and a sandwich,” he said, offering the boy a five-dollar bill, “because you didn’t have any breakfast.”

“Thanks,” the boy said, “but I can get something to eat at school. What’s your name, sir?”

“Harrington. Drake Harrington. Those are my buildings you’ve been stealing from. Tell your mother I’ll be by your house around five.”

“Thank you, sir. I think my mom is happy now. See you later.”

He drove directly to the utilities company, ordered the gas restored and paid the gas and electric bills for the next six months. Then he went to a local market and purchased coal and firewood for the fireplace, since he didn’t know whether the Jergens family had another source of heat. On his way home, he stopped by their house to find out whether the gas had been turned on, discovered that it had been and asked Stella Jergens if she needed anything for her children.

“Thank you, Mr. Harrington, but we’re warm now. I can cook, and the money you gave me will last awhile.” She blinked back a tear. “I can’t work because I can’t leave the little ones alone. I’ve been praying so hard. God will bless you.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’m already blessed.” And he knew he was, because he’d never been hungry in his life.

Pete ran to him. “Thanks, Mr. Harrington. I’m real glad you caught me this morning. I don’t like to steal, but—”

He patted the boy’s shoulder. “But never do it. There’s always a better way.”

“Yes, sir. Can I come by the place and see you sometime? I bet you can help me with my arithmetic. I like it, but I don’t have time to study. I have to help my mom.”

“I’m not always there, but if it gets rough, you may call me.” He gave the boy his cell-phone number. “Never mind the money. You may call collect. Be a good boy.”

“Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir.”

He drove home glad that it was he and not his foreman who caught the boy. Jack would have called the police immediately. The man had no compassion for those less fortunate. And he wondered what miracles Stella Jergens would work in order to make sixty dollars feed six people “awhile.”

“It’s just you and me tonight,” Henry said to Drake when he got home. “Tara’s in the school play, so Tel took them out for dinner before the performance.”

“Yeah? In that case, don’t cook. Let’s you and me drive into Frederick and eat at Mealey’s or some place like that. No dishes to put in the dishwasher and no pots and pans to scrub. What do you say?”

Henry removed his apron and threw it across a kitchen chair. “I never knock me self out doing nothing I don’t have to do. Be ready in half an hour.”

As a child, Drake had followed Henry from room to room in that big house, occasionally panicking when he couldn’t find him, and after his father’s death, Henry became even more precious to him. As the Jaguar sped along Route 15 in the direction of Frederick, he imagined that he would never be the same if the time came when Henry wasn’t there for him to understand him, jostle and needle him, and to offer his quaint form of love…

“Have you decided you’re not having anything else to do with Pamela?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“The way Alexis was talking, I figured you was planning to self-destruct. I don’t waste me breath giving a man advice about a woman, ’cause he ain’t gonna take it no way. But whatever it is you’re after, you’re gonna get it, ’cause you don’t mind hard work and you treat people right. Just be sure to get your taste of heaven while you’re conquering the world. Otherwise, heaven ain’t gonna be there. Or if it is, you’ll either be too old, too worldly, too set in your ways, or all of those to appreciate it when you get it—that is, if you can let yourself accept it.

“And mark my word, caring for babies and toddlers when you’re fifty years old can’t be no fun. Tell me something, son. Did she say she’d wait while you discover yerself?”

“Stop being facetious, Henry. She didn’t promise to wait. And before you ask, I don’t like it, but she’s a grown woman and she doesn’t need my permission to date other men.”

“And if she got any sense, that’s just what she’ll do.”

“Alexis said something like that, but I have to act on the basis of my feelings and my judgment. All of you wish me well, but I’m the one who has to live this life.”

“I just hope when you come to yer senses, you won’t find out that someone else is sleeping in that bed. Mr. Josh used to say Russ was hardheaded, and that you were the easiest of his boys to raise. He didn’t seem to know that Russ only insisted on getting and doing what he knew he was entitled to. You were just as determined—only you smiled, conned, cajoled and charmed him for whatever you wanted, and yer daddy never realized it. But I was on to you.”

He felt a grin spreading over his face. “I know. You wouldn’t let me get away with a thing, and I am grateful to you for that. Fortunately or not, I’ve become as cut-and-dried as Russ is.”

“No-nonsense is what you mean,” Henry said. “Look. There’s the old church where me and me Sarah took our vows, God rest her soul. The Quinn Chapel A. M. E. Church dates back to the late 1700s. It’s a landmark, and the local African-Americans are real proud of it. Every time I pass her, I think about that day way back then. You never saw the sun shine like that, and me Sarah looked so nice in her white lace dress and hat. Gives me the shivers thinking about it.”

“I can imagine. She was one sweet woman, the only person who ever sang me a lullaby. My mother didn’t have the maternal instinct of a flea.”

“Don’t bother to think about that. Does Pamela want children?”

“She does, and that’s the problem. She wants to start on that now.”

“Yeah, and she’d better. Me and me Sarah waited too long. She was five years older than me, and she just couldn’t go full-term. If we stay on this topic, we’ll be drinking our dinner ’stead of eating it though. Fortunately, neither of us drinks enough for the alcohol to make a difference.”

“One thing,” Drake said, “and then I want to drop this. Why does everybody want me to marry Pamela?”

“I don’t know about the rest, but when I’ve seen you with her, you behaved like a satisfied man. Besides, if I was yer age right now, I’d give you a run for yer money with that girl. You’d think I was Seabiscuit coming down the homestretch. She’s beautiful, kind, soft and got a real good head on her shoulders. And she can sing!”

They spent an amiable evening together, dining gourmet-style and reminiscing about their lives together, causing Drake to reflect more than once that Henry had been a lifesaver to him when his father died. Going over the joys and tragedies that they had experienced together reinforced his love for home and family.

“Henry has a subtle way of twisting my arm,” Drake said to himself after telling Henry good-night and heading to his room. He kicked off his shoes, stretched out on his bed and did the only thing he wanted to do. He telephoned Pamela, and it seemed as if the phone rang a thousand times before she answered, though he heard only four rings.

“Hello?”

“Hello. This is Drake. I was beginning to think I’d primed myself to hear your voice to no avail. How are you?”

“I’m all right. I was considering washing my hair. Then I thought I’d better start the research for a program I’m doing mid-July. Then I thought, ‘I’m going to play my record and read. I don’t feel like working.’”

“Telford and his family were out this evening, so Henry and I had a really nice dinner in Frederick. We’re just getting back.”

“Why did you call, Drake?”

He hadn’t expected the question, but somehow it didn’t surprise him. “I miss you, and I needed some contact with you. That’s why.”

“All right. Let’s talk awhile. I’m going to California on Monday for an industry conference, and I’m nervous about it because my producer is sending me in his stead. He said I don’t need a briefing.”

“Are you going to let him get away with that?”

“I don’t know. Men are always getting away with things.”

He sat up on the bed and rested his back against the headboard. “What men are you talking about? I don’t remember your letting me get away with anything…well, not much, anyway.”

“No? What do you call kissing the sense out of me and three hours later as much as saying that if you didn’t see me again, too bad?”

“I didn’t say that. Woman, I will not allow you to misrepresent me. Anyhow, you’re not bad at that kissing business yourself.”

“What you did was foul play,” she told him.

“No such thing, lady. I was not playing. I was never more serious in my life. You’re the criminal. I still have that gaping hole you left in me.”

“Really? Well, for heaven’s sake, come here, and I’ll do my best to plug it up.”

“Are you a gambler? Don’t you know I can get to Baltimore in forty minutes?”

“Normally I don’t gamble, but when I do, it’s for high stakes. If you feel like taking a forty-minute ride, it’ll take me about that long to make cookies and coffee.”

He looked at his watch. Nine thirty-five. “See you at ten-fifteen.”

He hung up, slipped on his shoes and walked over to Henry’s cottage. “I’m going to Baltimore, but I’ll be back tonight.”

Henry put his hands on his hips and stared at Drake as if he didn’t believe what he heard. “Humph. Seems to me if you’re smart enough to go, you ought to have sense enough to stay all night.”

He winked at Henry, knelt down and patted Henry’s puppy, a golden retriever, on the head. “When I do that, you’ll know something serious is going on.”

“Looks to me like it’s serious now, ’cause when you left me, you weren’t going anyplace but upstairs to bed. Don’t drive too fast.”

“’Course not. See you.”

He went inside, brushed his teeth, checked his face for evidence of a beard, got into his Jaguar and headed for Baltimore.

She met him at the door in an orange-colored silk jumpsuit that fit her body as if it had been made on her.

Okay, he said to himself. She’s declared war, but I’m a pretty good shot myself.

“Hi,” he said to her. “You look like moonlight shining over a peaceful lake. You take my breath away.”

A wide smile welcomed him. “Come on in, and be careful what you say, because I intend to hold everything you say and do tonight against you.”

He pushed back the strand of hair that fell over his left eye, giving him what Henry called the look of a rascal. “In that case, I can’t win. But I can’t lose what I don’t have, either. Hell, Pamela, I really have missed you.”

“Me, too. And if you’re the gentleman you claim to be, you’ll make amends.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? If you don’t call that making amends, I needn’t even start trying.” She looked so warm and sexy in that getup that he… “I… Pamela, put your arms around me. I need to hold you.”

“If you do what you did to me the last time, I’ll throw that pot of coffee at you.”

“Would you hurt me?” He didn’t know how much he meant that question until he heard himself whisper it. “Would you?”

“No. Oh, no.” Her arms opened and he walked into them. The feel of her soft, warm body and the scent of her faint perfume teased him, stirring his libido and awakening something in him that he wanted to remain dormant. She was on tiptoes now, and her hand at his nape guided his mouth to her waiting lips. His senses seemed to reel, and he plowed into her, demanding, asking and then—with his lips, arms, hands and his whole body—begging her to possess him, to love him. His hands roamed her back, arms and hips, and she held him, giving all he asked for, heating him until he thought the inferno inside of him would explode like a volcano.

“Pamela,” he moaned. “What have you done to me?” He crushed her to him, kissing her hair, face, ears and neck. “I want to make love with you, but if I do, that will be the end of it.”

She stepped back from him. “Why?”

“I can have protected sex with a woman I barely know, and it won’t mean anything beyond physical relief, but with you it would be life changing.”

“And you don’t want your life changed.”

He followed her into the kitchen, took the tray and carried it into the living room.

“A few weeks ago, I was certain I didn’t. Now, I’m less sure. I do know that I’m here right now because I needed what you just gave me, and I needed it with you.”

She poured the coffee. “You have needs. Right? So do I. The problem is that I can’t conceive of being intimate with a man I don’t care deeply for. But I think I should set that old-fashioned attitude aside. Who says a single woman can’t have a baby?”

He nearly choked on the cookie. “A child has a right to have the love and guidance of its father, as well as its mother.”

“Agreed. In the best of all possible worlds, it would be that way every time, but honey, this world doesn’t come anywhere near that. We get what we’re lucky enough to find. I’ve been considering adopting a child.”

“Tell me you’re not serious.”

“I wouldn’t lie, Drake. Tell me that you are not going to disappear from my life for another three weeks, because if you do that I won’t welcome you again.” She laughed. “Can you imagine my father asking me when you were planning to speak with him? I told him it was unlikely that you ever would.” She stood. “When you kiss me good-night, do a good job of it, because it will probably be our last time.”

He put the cup on the coffee table and stood. “I care far too much for you to trivialize it in any way. I can’t say I won’t see you again, unless you forbid it. Each time I’m with you, I know you better, what I see pleases me and I need you more. Will you wait for six months?”