Читать книгу Her Secret Life - Gwynne Forster, Gwynne Forster - Страница 8

I don’t know what possessed me to agree to speak to that sorority on this particular day, Jacqueline said to herself as she rolled out of bed at four-thirty in the morning. I’m beat. Lord, I should have spent the night in Charlotte.

But she hadn’t. She was in New York, and she’d better get moving if she wanted to get that seven o’clock flight.

By the time the propeller plane landed in Charlotte, she was certain that her insides had been rearranged. In the terminal, she bought a bottle of cold water and drank it to settle her stomach. Then, she picked up a rental car and headed for Johnson C. Smith University. Whenever Jacqueline visited a university—and she did that often—she invariably felt old, compared to the vibrant, youthful students around her.

Jacqueline had accomplished a lot in the ten years after getting her undergraduate degree in English. She’d earned a doctorate in criminology and had become the senior editor of a very prestigious magazine, but she was also lonely. Her life was devoid of the intimacy she craved, and she saw little likelihood of a change in her single status. What man would be willing to share the burden of her father’s expensive illness or to settle for a woman whose father’s well-being came before everything else? Would a successful, polished man like Warren Holcomb allow himself to care for a cocktail waitress? And would he still be interested if he discovered who she really was?

She turned into the university’s campus, asked for instructions to the library, drove there, found a parking space and walked a few paces to the James B. Duke Library. She had to banish her passion for Warren Holcomb—and there was nothing else to call it—for she was playing with fire.

“Welcome, Dr. Parkton,” a pretty girl of about eighteen said when Jacqueline stepped into the lecture hall, where about seventy-five students and, she surmised from their apparent ages, teachers as well, awaited her. “I’m your escort for the day. The students are all excited, and I’ve already collected lots of questions for you.”

And so it went on many of Jacqueline’s weekends. The money she made from her lectures went into a special account from which she would pay for her father’s surgery in the event that he agreed to have it. She didn’t allow herself to consider the consequences if he refused. Lunch with the class that sponsored her appearance there followed the lecture and questioning period. She enjoyed the exchange with the eager students, but she was glad to leave.

I’m old enough to be their mother, she said to herself of the freshmen as she drove to the airport, and I definitely did not enjoy being addressed as ma’am.

She walked into her apartment at eight-thirty that night, had a glass of milk and two pieces of toast for supper, stripped and fell into bed. She couldn’t wait for Monday. Monday evening, in fact. Surely, if Warren—she thought of him as Warren, not as Mr. Holcomb—put his mind to it, he ought to be able to figure out a way to spend time with her in forty-eight hours.

Warren spent most of his weekend thinking about Jackie Parks and pondering schemes to be alone with her outside the club without violating Allegory’s rules. Expulsion from the club would mortify him and practically assure that, for years to come, Allegory wouldn’t have another African American member. Membership in it had enabled him to obtain generous donations to Harlem Clubs, Inc., funds that he used for scholarships and for professional tutoring for the children who frequented the clubs.

He could get Jackie’s address and wait for her at her home one night after she left work, but that strategy involved asking the club accountant for information about Jackie. He couldn’t do that. He could follow her, but that was unseemly. And what if she lived with a man? From his one conversation with her, he didn’t think so, but who could tell?

I’ll ask her where she lives. That’s not the same as making a date. I’d call her at home, but she’s not in the phone directory. Damn, but this woman is in my blood!

He was never at a loss for something constructive to do, but Harlem Clubs didn’t open on Sunday. The only person in New York City who he wanted to see was unavailable to him and he was at loose ends. He put on his jogging suit and a pair of running shoes and went for a run down to the promenade, but instead of returning home at once, he sat on the bench overlooking the East River and lower Manhattan. A chilly, but otherwise perfect day, he thought, as the early afternoon sun warmed his face. All around him leaves floated lazily to earth and a tugboat hooted hoarsely for wider access with its burdensome tanker. The couples who strolled along the promenade holding hands, hugging and staring into each other’s eyes increased his sense of loneliness.

“I wonder what she’s doing and who she’s with?” he mused as visions of her long, silky legs and her large round eyes filled his mind’s eye. “Something about her doesn’t add up. Women who exploit their sexuality have never interested me, but with that skirt barely covering her…Oh, what the hell!” He got up and jogged on home and wondered if he could bear to wait until Monday evening.

After fighting the covers all night, he arose early Monday morning, not because he was invigorated—enervated was more like it—but because he wanted to hasten the beginning of the day. He didn’t wait until he got to the club to reserve a private lounge as he usually did. Instead he telephoned his reservation as soon as the club opened at noon.

She had to stop, Jacqueline thought to herself after she changed clothes for the third time that Monday afternoon. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late for work, and that sleaze Duff Hornsby would have an excuse to get her alone under the pretext of reprimanding her. Green wasn’t her best color, and suppose she ran into Warren before she changed into her uniform. Oh what the heck! If I’m late, I’m late. She took off the green dress and put on a red woolen sheath, added a strand of pearls and a spritz of Opium perfume, put on her coat and headed to work.

She walked into Allegory at precisely six-thirty and let herself relax. She was on time and Hornsby, the club’s president, wouldn’t have an excuse to harass her. She changed into her uniform and the stiletto-heel sandals she was required to wear and went to the storage room to get some linen cocktail napkins.

“What on earth!” She gasped and backed out of the storage room, closing the door on the half-naked couple she’d just interrupted. Was that Carl Spaeder’s wife? And if it was, why didn’t they save their lovemaking for their bedroom at home? And why didn’t they close the door? Have I been missing something about this ritzy place? she asked herself. Is Warren Holcomb the only man here who obeys club rules?

The light flashed on her intercom, indicating a call to the Reagan Suite. Wondering who had summoned her, she opened the door, and when she saw Duff Hornsby, she didn’t move two feet from it.

“Yes, Mr. Hornsby. How may I help you?”

A smile crawled over his face. “For starters, you can move closer. Over here.”

“I can hear whatever you say standing right here. I have another call. What do you want?”

“I want you.”

“Mr. Hornsby, I’ve worked here for going on three years, and you’re the first member of this club to break club rules and harass me. I suppose you know that my contract provides for redress in such an event.”

“Oh, come now. You can’t prove a thing. Besides, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“That’s impossible. Not if you owned every ounce of gold in Fort Knox. And don’t be too sure that I can’t prove you got out of line.” She let the door slam behind her, aware that eventually Duff Hornsby’s shenanigans could force her to leave Allegory.

She went back to her station and saw the light flashing for the lounge that Warren frequently used. She got a glass of ice water, a pot of coffee and a coffee service, arranged them on a silver tray and entered the lounge.

“I’ve been ringing you for the past ten minutes,” he said. “I was afraid that you didn’t come to work today. How are you?”

Thank God for the serving table beside the door, for it seemed that her arms and legs turned to rubber and she quickly set the tray on the table. “I’m…fine. I hope you had a…an enjoyable weekend.”

“I had a lonely weekend, and it lasted forever.”

What was she to say to that? Her weekend hadn’t been a rousing celebration, either. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I brought you some coffee.”

Even from the distance, she couldn’t miss the warmth of his gaze. “Thanks for your thoughtfulness. It’s just what I want. I’d ask for a vodka comet, but I don’t want it badly enough to drink it alone.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” She poured the coffee, put about two tablespoons of milk in it, placed it on the cocktail table in front of him. Shock reverberated through her system when his hand covered hers, and, unable to do otherwise, she stared into his eyes. Eyes bright with warmth, affection and, yes, riveting desire.

“Would you p-please g-give me b-back my h-hand?”

“Don’t ever call me ‘sir’ again, Jackie. My name is Warren, and that’s what I want you to call me.”

She looked down at him, and at his restive and agitated demeanor. If I don’t get out of here, we’re both going to explode.

“I’d better go. If you want something else, just ring.” She didn’t wait for his reply, but walked out as quickly as she could and closed the door.

She returned to her station, saw that Ben had called her and, instead of calling him, she went to the bar. “What is it, Ben?” she asked trying to sound normal.

“Hornsby’s in the main lounge, and he wants these drinks.”

“Ben, what am I going to do about that man? He keeps hitting on me, and I can’t stand him. He’s so sure that nobody will believe he’d harass a cocktail waitress. But Ben, he actually propositioned me.”

“I’d believe it. The guy’s gray suit on the outside and pure trash on the inside. Don’t let that jerk upset you. I’ll send Jack in with this.” She thanked him and, on her way back to her station, glanced toward the main lounge and saw Hornsby huddled with Mac. Birds of a feather, she said to herself as she got ready to deliver another order.

Warren Halcomb had been aware of Jackie’s reaction to his touch, and knowing that he made her tremble had excited him. But at that moment, he’d had more self-control than she, for if he had stood and put his arms around her, she wouldn’t have moved until his tongue was deep inside her mouth.

Long after Jackie had left, Warren sat alone in the private lounge, leaning against the back of the leather chair musing about her. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her, or at least he thought so, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe she had merely been frightened that he would take advantage of her. He’d certainly had the opportunity, for no one would enter a private suite other than a waiter or waitress called there to give service. But she was safe with him, she should know that by now.

What a mess!

He got up and went to the bar hoping for a glimpse of her. He found Ben squinting his eyes over a tattered copy of Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Ben looked up, saw Warren and lay the book, open and facedown, on the counter.

“Can I get you something?” he asked Warren.

He wasn’t going to pour out his intimate thoughts to any man, including Ben, whom he’d taken into his confidence on many occasions. “I was considering a vodka comet, but I think I’ll just head home.”

“We’re having stuffed crown of roast pork and drawn lobster for dinner tonight. You can’t get a better choice. Makes you wanna eat two dinners. If you don’t have an engagement…” Ben didn’t say more. They had a strange friendship, but Ben never allowed himself to get familiar with Warren. Too bad, Warren thought. In different circumstances, they could have been as close as brothers.

He rarely ate at the club more than the required four nights each month, and Ben knew it. “Thanks, buddy,” he said, ignoring Ben’s concession to rank. “Two of my favorites, but I can’t stay tonight. Thanks for letting me know.” Ben nodded, poured some vodka and aquavit over shaved ice, drained it into two glasses, added a few drops of lime juice and handed one glass to Warren.

“I know you don’t drink by yourself, so I’ll toss this one back with you if you like.”

Warren smiled. “I would indeed like it, Ben, and I appreciate the gesture. First time I decide to drink alone, it’ll be the last time I taste alcohol.”

“Can’t say that I blame you. It’s a habit that can quickly get out of hand.” The light flashed for service in one of the lounges, Ben turned to the business at hand. “You have a good evening,” he said to Warren over his shoulder. Warren had noticed that Ben never put anything or anyone ahead of work, and that probably explained why the man had succeeded at Allegory, Inc. In addition to his salary, the members tipped him twenty percent of the cost of every drink ordered, and he received a two-thousand-dollar bonus at Christmas. All of which allowed him to live comfortably in an attractive home in upscale Ardsley, New York, and send his two daughters to Princeton University.

“See you tomorrow,” Warren said, and with no reason to linger, he left without seeing Jackie again.

At eight-thirty on Thanksgiving Eve, Jackie started to the bar for an order and stopped. “Oh my goodness!” she said and groped toward the wall as darkness engulfed her surroundings. A few minutes later, she heard the guard’s voice over the loudspeaker. “New York’s in a total blackout. You can’t use the elevators, so take the stairs. I’ll have a light in the stairwell in a couple of minutes.” As she felt her way toward her dressing room, she heard a clicking sound and breathed deeply in relief when a faint light appeared.

“There you are.” She’d never been so happy as when she heard Warren’s voice, because she couldn’t see who held the light and had considered the possibility that she might have to deal with Duff Hornsby in the darkness.

“You don’t know how glad I am that it’s you and not—” She caught herself and didn’t finish the remark.

“May I drive you home?” he asked her. “Subways won’t be running, and buses will be scarce. Unless you want to spend the night here?”

She didn’t want to be at Duff Hornsby’s mercy. “If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience for you, I would appreciate a lift, but I live up on West End Avenue, and that’s a distance from here.”

“It will be my pleasure. I wouldn’t be comfortable knowing that you couldn’t get home. Get your things, and we can leave.”

He handed her the flashlight, and she changed into her regular shoes, got her handbag, put on her coat and rejoined him. She knew he would wait while she changed into her street dress, but she didn’t want to risk Hornsby’s seeing Warren standing beside her dressing room and making an issue of it.

“This may take a while,” he told her a short time later as they fastened their seat belts. “Without streetlights or traffic lights, I’ll have to drive slowly.”

“Are you sure you want to take me home?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything. Just be patient, and we’ll get there safely. I’ve spent a lot of time figuring out a way to see you away from the club, and Providence has given me a hand. I’m sorry so many people are inconvenienced by this blackout, and the day before Thanksgiving at that, but I’m glad for this opportunity to be with you.”

I’ve never been tongue-tied in my life, she thought, but…Why am I so nervous? He’s just a man, for goodness’ sake. The sound that was supposed to be her voice surprised her with its calm and intelligence when she said, “I thought you’d decided that you could find better things to do with your time than to spend it thinking of ways for us to be together.”

“You didn’t think any such thing. If you did, when you were in the lounge with me tonight, you found out how wrong you were.” He stopped at the corner to allow pedestrians to pass. “It wouldn’t hurt you to give a guy some encouragement.”

“How much more do you want than what you got tonight?”

“Now, I really have to be careful,” he said.

“I’m sure you’re always careful,” she said.

“Careful and thorough. I leave nothing to chance. Whatever I do is done well.” She didn’t miss the underlying meaning, either. He found a parking space a few doors from the building in which she lived.

“It took less time than I expected,” he said as they entered the building. “Which way is the staircase?”

When she stopped walking, he said, “You don’t think I’m going to let you walk up those stairs in the dark by yourself, do you? What floor do you live on?”

In the dimly lighted lobby, she looked at him and spoke softly. “The twenty-first.” She gave silent thanks that the doorman was busy and hadn’t addressed her as Dr. Parkton.

To her amazement, he grinned and took her hand. “Then we’d better get started.”

He lit their way with his flashlight, and they said few words, saving their breath and energy for the tiresome climb.

“Thank God,” she said when they reached the twenty-first floor. He walked with her to her apartment door, and she said, “Come in and rest for a few minutes.”

“Sure you don’t mind?”

“If I minded, I would have thanked you and said good-night.”

She found half a dozen pillar candles, put them on a tray, lighted them and placed the tray on the coffee table in her living room. “Have a seat. I’ll be back in a minute.” I am definitely not going to sit with him in this romantic setting with nothing on but this skimpy waitress uniform.

She put on a pair of flared black silk pants and a flattering dusty rose sweater that hung loosely around her hips. “I can offer you ginger ale, orange juice or cranberry juice. What would you like?”

“Cranberry juice. Is there a reason why you aren’t offering me an alcoholic drink?”

“I’d be glad to if I had any in the house.”

“So you don’t drink.”

“I drink wine in restaurants and here, too, when I have dinner guests.”

“I see. This is a very elegant apartment. I like your taste. It’s cozy and very…subdued. You like warm colors, and I suspect they’re a reflection of your temperment. Am I right?”

“I’ve never thought about it. Am I a warm person? I like people, and I don’t sort them as if I were grading food for sale in gourmet shops, supermarkets and mom and pop stores in El Barrio. I try to treat all people the same.”

“Do you have siblings, Jackie?”

“I have an older sister. She’s a divorced single mom of three. She isn’t having an easy life. My mother died three months ago, and my father has taken it very badly. We all did.”

He leaned forward. “I’m so sorry. I know how difficult it is to cope with the loss of a parent. Were you happy as a child?”

“Oh, yes. My parents were wonderful people. They loved each other deeply, and they adored my sister and me. And we could feel it. We weren’t wealthy, but we didn’t want for anything, and our home was rich in love and in the little day-to-day kindnesses and thoughtfulness that made a happy home life.”

He spoke softly, soothingly, and she realized that she loved his voice. “Where is your father now?” he asked.

“He’s in a private clinic in Riverdale. He needs an operation, but he hasn’t consented to it. If he doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do. He’s been a wonderful father, and I’d do anything for him.”

“How old are you, Jackie?”

Only a confident man would ask a woman that question with no preliminaries and no sugar-coating. “I’m thirty-three. I don’t know anything about you, except that Allegory invited you to join. You can’t imagine what a buzz that created at the club. It had never happened before. By the way, since you’re sitting here in my home, I assume you are not married.”

He sat forward and looked directly into her eyes as if he wanted her to know that he spoke the truth. “No, I definitely am not and have never been.” He draped his right ankle across his knee and leaned back. “The invitation to join the club is about the only thing that came easily for me. I worked like a dog for everything else. I was born in Durham, North Carolina, grew up there and finished high school there in the top ten percentile of U.S. high school graduates that year. That got me a scholarship to MIT, and after I graduated, I went to work in Silicone Valley developing computer hardware and software. The boom became a big bust, and I thought I’d have to sell shoelaces, but after about four months, I got a job with Pearson Triangle, an Internet facilitator. Being out of a job for four months was a great teacher, and I made it a point to become financially savvy. Pretty soon, the field became overcrowded, so I sold my shares in Pearson and bought a hotel in Honolulu. I made it stand out by targeting honeymooners, offering live classical jazz nightly and screening the latest movies right inside the hotel. I subsequently built similar ones in Nairobi and in Washington, D.C. where every patron gets a free tour of historic Washington.”

“What’s the name of the one in Washington?”

He told her and added, “My next hotel will be on Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard.”

“And your success has moved you to help change the lives of African American children where you live.”

“I live in Brooklyn Heights, but I built Harlem Clubs, Inc., for children five to eighteen years old, and I volunteer there for a few hours most days and every Saturday that I’m in New York. I want to do everything I can to eliminate crime among our children.”

Now Jackie leaned forward, for what she heard told her that they dreamed the same dream and worked toward the same goal. If only she could tell him about herself, who she really was and why Jackie Parks even existed. But she couldn’t risk it. He was a man who played by the rules, and she didn’t know whether his loyalty would be with her or with the club. She went into the kitchen and brought him a glass of cranberry juice.

He accepted the juice and drank a few swallows. “This environment really becomes you. You have created such a peaceful, gentle setting.”

Suddenly, she wished he would ask what she did during the day, for she wouldn’t be able to lie to him. She longed to reveal herself to him, to meet him on equal terms.

He looked at his watch and seemed shocked. “Would you believe it’s a quarter to one in the morning? I had no idea, Jackie, and I apologize for staying so late.”

She followed him to the door. “Don’t,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed every minute that you’ve been here.” When his eyes blazed with the fire of a man looking at the woman he wants, chills shot through her, and she got a feeling that she stood at a precipice.

He stepped closer and gazed down at her. “Don’t tell me that or anything else unless you’re sure you mean it. Do you?”

She couldn’t make herself speak, so she nodded. His hand stroked her left arm, and the fire of it shot straight to her loins. She knew better than to lower her gaze, for he already had the upper hand.

“You and your job at the club don’t match,” he said as he stared into her eyes, “but one of these days you’ll explain it to me. I don’t give up easily, Jackie. You’ve been in my blood, and now, you’re in my head as well. What am I to you?”

She sucked in her breath and, without thinking, covered his hand on her arm with hers. Her gaze dropped to his lips and, at last his fingers pressed into her flesh as he wrapped her in his arms.

“Open up to me. Let me feel myself inside of you,” he said, groaning as if in pain. His breath, warm and sweet, washed over her face, and she felt herself trembling in his arms as his hot mouth singed hers, and his tongue pressed for entry. She opened her mouth, took him in, and desire gripped her as he claimed her with his stroking, dueling tongue and pressed her body to his. She sucked his tongue into her mouth. More. Deeper. She needed, wanted all of him. She thought she’d go crazy if he didn’t get all the way into her. Heat permeated her vagina, and when her nipples tightened against his chest, he held her closer and groan after groan poured out of him. She rubbed from side to side against his chest to ease the pain in her nipples. Oh, how she wanted to feel his mouth on them. Her head told her to stop it, but her body begged for the feel of him deep inside of her. Crazy for more of him, after years of emptiness and deprivation, her hips betrayed her, and when she realized that she had undulated against him, she forced herself to step away.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” she whispered.

“Say my name, Jackie. I’ve never heard you say my name.”

She looked into his eyes and breathed the word. “Warren. Oh, Warren.”

He brought her back to him and folded her in his arms with a gentle caress. “I wish we could go even further…but at least, I know that you care for me.”

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You brought something out of me that I didn’t know was there, and I…I don’t know whether I’m happy about it.”

“There are things about you that I don’t understand, but your reaction to me tonight is not one of them. We’re attracted to each other, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re concerned because you would have preferred to control your feelings, but your passionate response has made me want you that much more.” He released her and took out a pad and pen. “What’s your phone number? I’ll call you in the morning around nine. Okay?”

She gave him her number, and he wrote it down. “Get home safely.”

A wide grin roamed over his face. “Don’t think for a minute that I’m leaving here without another kiss. You’ve got a lot to make up for.”

She opened her arms, but his kiss was quick. “You are one sweet woman. Good night.”

As Warren loped down the stairs, somehow he didn’t notice the distance. He stopped at the eleventh floor not because he was tired, but because he was so overcome with excitement that he felt light-headed. Jackie’s response to him had exceeded his wildest fantasies about her. He’d been at the point of erection—something he used to be able to control—when she stepped away from him and called a halt to the sweetest and most honest loving be could remember.

He leaned against the wall and breathed deeply. What would she do if she decided to make love with him? What would she be like? Shudders raced through him when he thought of the way she moved against him. “Get yourself together, man,” he said aloud. “You’ve got a long way to go with the mysterious Jackie Parks. You need to take it slowly.”

Nevertheless, when he awoke Thanksgiving morning, he could hardly wait until eight o’clock, which he considered a reasonable hour to telephone a person. He’d said he would call her at nine, but an hour didn’t make a big difference, did it?

“Good morning, Jackie,” he said when she answered. “I know it’s early, but I’ve been waiting for a decent time to call you.”

“This isn’t a decent time.”

He flushed with unexpected heat. “You’re still in bed? I…” He caught himself. He wished he was in that bed with her, but it was a little too soon to tell her that. Warren suspected that Jackie had some lines that he’d better not cross. He sensed that she was holding back. So instead, he said, “I’d lie if I said I was sorry. I couldn’t wait to talk with you. Think you can wake up sufficiently to talk with me?”

“Sure. I just have to get a drink of water or something. Catch me when I’m half-asleep, and I’ll promise you Fort Knox.”

He stared at the phone. Who was this woman? Nearly asleep, she spoke in a voice that was as refined as if she were wide-awake and measuring every word.

“I’m back. What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock. Do you always sleep late?” he asked with a chuckle. “Well, I guess you do, since you work at night.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, “but I woke up around seven, and I just didn’t want to get up. Besides, I’d been having such a wonderful, restful sleep that I—” She stopped as if she’d said too much.

“That you what?” he asked her.

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Then I’ll take it that you dreamed about me.”

“Worse things have happened.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “You’re wide-awake now, and I can hear that you have your wits about you. Can we have lunch? I’d like to go home later today to have dinner with my folks, but I also want to share Thanksgiving Day with you. Will you be hungry at noon?”

“I’d love to have lunch with you, but I want to have lunch with my father today since I can’t have dinner with him. They serve dinner around five-thirty at the clinic and, as you know, I have to be at work at six-thirty.”

The temptation to ask her to skip work loomed large, but he didn’t know her financial circumstances and, in any case, he valued dependability in an employee. “Then, can we have lunch tomorrow and spend the afternoon together? I’d like you to visit my Harlem Clubs.”

“What time?”

Nothing coy or coquettish, and he liked that in a woman. “May I come for you at twelve-thirty?”

“I’ll be ready. What time did the electricity come on last night?”

“It was on when I awoke at a quarter of seven. I’ll be eternally grateful for that blackout.”

“Come now, Warren. You would have figured out a way for us to spend time together. I can’t believe you wouldn’t have.”

“After discounting half a dozen ideas and being frustrated because you’re not in the phone directory, I had decided to give you my phone number and suggest you use it. Fortunately, I was saved by the inefficiency of Consolidated Edison.”

Her laughter, soft and sensuous, rolled over him, warming him like a sweet promise on an early spring evening. “That’s a stretch,” she said. “I can’t imagine there’s anything you set yourself to do that would get the better of you.”

“You know how to make a man feel good. Did you mean that?”

“Of course I meant it, otherwise, why would I say it? Hang up so I can get my act together. I want to buy some flowers and a box of chocolate for my dad, and it takes a while to get to Riverdale. See you tomorrow.”

“A really sweet woman would give me a kiss.”

She made the sound of a kiss. “Somebody’s been spoiling you.”

“How I wish! I haven’t stood still long enough to enjoy that, but I’m definitely going to change my ways. Until tomorrow.”

Tomorrow wouldn’t come fast enough for him. He told himself not to speculate about her, but to ask her anything that he wanted to know. Yet, he’d had enough experience to realize that an answer didn’t necessarily reveal the truth. He’d always thought that neither her manners nor her speech were what one would expect of a woman serving drinks in a gentlemen-only club. And as far as he could see—and he was a careful observer—she didn’t have a relationship with any man in that club.

She had impressed him as being modest when she changed out of that skimpy uniform, obviously unwilling to entertain him in her home while wearing it. A more worldly woman would not have done that. More points in her favor. But if I’m wrong, God help me. She’s in me, and she has been for months.

He went to the kitchen, put some frozen Belgian waffles into the toaster and four strips of bacon in the microwave and reheated coffee. “I’m not going to give up on her,” he said to himself. “I’ve got a gut feeling that whatever she is underneath is what I want.”

He didn’t care to eat lunch alone, so he dressed and went to the Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen on Ninth Avenue and helped serve food to the more than a thousand homeless and poor, who came there for a free Thanksgiving Day meal.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Jacqueline placed the receiver in its cradle and braced her hands on her knees. Hadn’t she vowed not to get involved with any man at Allegory, regardless of his status as a member or an employee? Yet, in all of her thirty-three years, she had never felt the passion for a man that she felt for Warren Holcomb, nor had she responded to one as she did to him. She got up and headed to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of coffee would help her clear her head. If he preferred the type of woman she appeared to be in her micro-mini waitress uniform and spiked-heel sandals, he wasn’t for her, nor she for him.

When I went to work at Allegory, I was only trying to be a dutiful daughter. Lord, please help me out of this mess. I believe he’s a good man, and I…I want him. What am I going to do? His type of man doesn’t fall in love with the woman he thinks I am.

If she continued to worry about her relationship with Warren Holcomb, she’d soon be a basket case, so she called her sister. “Happy Thanksgiving, Vanna. What are you and the children doing today?”

“We’re having a picnic with a neighbor down the street. She has a girl and a boy the age of my oldest two, and they get on well together. I called Daddy a few minutes ago, and he really was upbeat. He even told me one of his jokes. When you see him today, give him a hug for me.”

“I will. I plan to see him at lunchtime. He’s always liveliest at midday. By dinnertime, he’s usually tired. I’ll call tomorrow and let you know how he’s doing.”

“All right, Jacqueline. The Lord will bless you. I know that taking care of our father is a sacrifice on your part. If I could do more, I would, but I haven’t received a child support payment in three years. The court can’t locate Arnold to serve the papers, and my teacher’s salary hardly enables me to pay the mortgage on this house. The moral of my story is be careful who you marry. Love and passion don’t necessarily last.”

“I’m not thinking marriage these days, Vanna, but sometimes I wish I was.”

“Your day will come. Whoever he turns out to be, I hope he’ll be worthy of you. Have a wonderful day, sis. Bye.”

She hung up and told herself not to think about Vanna’s situation. As inexperienced as she was with men, she knew enough to shy away from men like Vanna’s ex-husband. The man was all charm and no substance, but neither she nor their parents had been able to make Vanna see it. Shaking off her gloomy thoughts, she dressed, walked over to Broadway to buy flowers and chocolates for her father, picked up her rental car and headed for Riverdale.

She found her father sitting in a chair beside his bed, and his face glowed with delight when she walked in. “How are you feeling, Daddy?” She put the roses in a vase and handed him the chocolates.

“Pretty good. Thanks for the candy. You know I love chocolate.” He nodded toward the flowers. “I love flowers, too, and your mother always had them in the house. They say I can go to the dining room, and we can eat lunch in there.” She went to the nurses’ station, got a wheelchair, helped her father into it and wheeled him to the dining room. Tables for two and four were covered with white tablecloths, vases of flowers and attractive place settings. She moved a chair from one of the small tables, settled her father there and sat opposite him.

“Isn’t this nice?” he said. “You know, they want me to have that operation, but why should I at my age? Seems pretty silly to me.”

She stared him in the face, careful not to glare at him, for she knew he would regard that as sass, a thing he didn’t allow. “What about Vanna and me, Daddy? We’ve lost our mother. Are you suggesting that we don’t need our father? Besides, you’re only sixty-four.” He didn’t answer, and she didn’t press the issue. She hoped he would think on her words.

After a very good turkey dinner, she took him to the lounge where they played rummy—a game she’d almost forgotten because she hadn’t played it since she left home to go to college—and his concentration on it was as much of a present as she could have wanted.

She left her father at four o’clock and drove to Manhattan, returned the rental car and went home and dressed for work. She was scheduled to begin her shift at six-thirty. As she approached Allegory’s front door, she remembered that Warren would not be there that night. She was so disappointed at the thought of not seeing him that she sat in her dressing room taking deep breaths to calm her emotions for ten minutes before heading for the bar.