A Scandalous Affair

Simone looked up. “Sure.”

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. His lips stayed pressed against her flesh for a moment too long and the old sensations roared to the surface. Did he feel it, too? Her heart pumped faster. “It was good seeing you again, Simone,” his voice caressed. “You’re more beautiful than I remember.” His finger stroked her cheek and it took all her will power not to tremble.

“Maybe we could get together—for lunch or dinner.”

“I’m really busy, Chad…”

He held up his hand. “Hey, no explanations needed. I understand. Maybe some other time.” He opened the car door and held it until Simone was behind the wheel.

She stuck her key in the ignition and the engine purred to life. She pressed a button and the window lowered halfway.

Chad leaned down. “Get home safely.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled and backed out of the driveway.

Chad watched the car until it turned out of the drive and tore off down the smooth, black-tarred road.

Slowly, he turned back toward the house and quietly shut the door behind him.

That night, lying in bed, Chad stared through the sheer curtains that billowed with the light spring breeze and out onto the seamless blue blanket, sprinkled with star dust. He was home, among those who loved him, and it felt good. Very good.

It all seemed so quiet, so perfect, as if all was right with the world. How deceptive a quiet night could be. Behind closed doors, strategies were devised, lies constructed, papers read, televisions watched and lovers loved. He and Simone were perfect examples of a quiet night, both projecting a picture of cool control, an emotional distance, while still maintaining a tangible warmth. He turned on his side, his thoughts still turbulent.

She’d changed. That was obvious. There was a toughening of her edges, a new aloofness that he didn’t remember being a part of who she was. Perhaps it was the work, the things she’d seen and had to find a way to deal with. There was no way she could successfully coexist in the world of politics without developing a tough exterior. A shell to ward off the blindside attacks and sudden assaults of the opposition. Beltway politics at its meanest.

Had Simone become hardened inside as well? She wasn’t the woman he’d left four years ago. But neither was he the same man. His journey into the abject misery of the Third World, with its many plagues of hunger, disease and war, had awakened something deep inside him. He saw everything around him now with new eyes, saw beyond the obvious to the essentials of things. Yes,Simone had changed. And it was apparent from her response to him that she’d moved on and had no intention of revisiting the past. How did he feel about that?

Truthfully, it was a mixture of regret and relief. Regret that there wasn’t a special someone waiting for him, that she was not what he’d imagined during his time away, and relief that he wouldn’t be called upon to live up to or recreate what had once been. The memory was always more perfect than the reality. The mind always played tricks with time and emotion.

Maybe it was just as well. He came back for one major reason—to make a difference. That was what he would concentrate on.

Samantha stepped out of the shower and walked nude to her bedroom. She’d completed a full hour of aerobics, light weights and stretches upon returning from her parents’ home.

Her smooth, brown, heavenly sculpted body glided by the full-length mirror. The long, sinewy legs, tight thighs—and just the right amount of curve and lift to her behind to make a man holler—moved in perfect motion about the room. She hadn’t reached a point yet where gravity had gotten a lock on her, dragging everything toward the ground. Her 36B breasts were still high and firm and she worked hard at keeping them that way for as long as possible.

Samantha sat on the side of the bed, took a cloth band from the night table, grabbed a handful of her locks and fastened a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She checked her bedside clock and disconnected the alarm. Tomorrow she planned to sleep late—at least until eight and not her usual six.

She switched off her bedside light and slid beneath the cool, mint green sheets that matched perfectly with the patterned borders of her off-white walls. Even in the brutal heat of the D.C. summers, stepping into her room always reminded her of an oasis.

Samantha took in a long breath and slowly pushed it out. This had been an incredibly hard week, and the worst was yet to come. Of that much she was certain. But at least she knew she had her family’s support. And now that Chad was home—

The sudden rush of adrenaline caused her heart to beat faster and her skin to warm. The notion of what he wanted to undertake had no precedence, at least not on a national level. To be a part of it—to possibly add a page to history, change lives and laws, was a Herculean feat that left her in awe.

She shut her eyes and the image of Chad’s face bloomed behind her lids. Her eyes flew open and her entire body tingled.

Chad?

Samantha laughed quietly to herself. Who was she kidding? Chad was the one who gave her that hot flush, that extra beat of her heart. He’d been able to evoke that kind of response from her since she first met him six years earlier. But then, Chad Rushmore seemed so sophisticated and worldly—out of her reach—compared to the sheltered life she’d lived with her mother in Atlanta. She never felt he’d be interested in the woman she was becoming. Strong, driven and politically committed. All still in the bud. So she hid her feelings from him, from the world, hiding behind her books, her studies, her causes, her family.

But now—now she was in full bloom. She knew who she was and what she wanted to do with her life. She had convictions, values and supporters. People recognized her on the street and sought her guidance and assistance any day of any week.

She was his equal now and felt confident in that role, and if the possibility of a relationship existed, now she would have something to bring to it. Her own strengths.

She always swore that all she wanted in a relationship was a man like her father, Justin, and Chad Rushmore was as close as it comes. Seeing him again, being in his presence, confirmed what she’d only imagined.

Chapter 6

Samantha arrived early at her local offices in Georgetown. On a clear day she could glimpse the imposing structure of the Washington Monument, and the outline of the Capitol building. It all looked so pure and powerful, strong and white, symbolic of the freedoms for which men and women fought and sacrificed their lives.

She turned away from the farce that darkened her window and crossed the tiny office space to her cluttered desk, stacked with files, forms, and to-do correspondence. Her assistant and dear friend Mia left her a list of calls to be returned and invoices to be signed. Although it was Saturday, this was the day she accomplished the most. When the phones weren’t ringing off the hook, clients weren’t running in and out, and her small but efficient staff wasn’t pulling her in every direction at once.

This was her time, her quiet time for reflection and reorganization.

Although she’d made a silent vow the night before to sleep later, as usual she was up before the sun, and she had completed her ritual two-mile jog by six.

Energized, showered and her mind crystal clear, she’d wound up at her office before eight.

Moving to the make-believe kitchen—which was no more than a microwave and a miniature refrigerator—tucked in the back of the three-room office, Samantha ran some water in a mug and popped it into the microwave. A cup of herbal tea was just the thing she needed.

With tea in hand, she methodically went through the pile of messages, discarded calls she would not make, and then sorted by order of importance the ones to be made that morning and those that could wait until Monday.

Completing her calls to two reporters, one to her GYN doctor to reschedule her missed appointment and the other to a man who wanted her help in a housing discrimination suit, Samantha then went through the bills.

Although many compared her to the young and fiery Angela Davis, and the now in-your-face Reverend Al, Samantha Montgomery prided herself on several things which gave her an edge over both. One, she began her illustrious career working within the system, not against it. Two, she possessed parents in respected, powerful positions. And three, she had her degree in law, a fact very few people knew—but it served her well.

Her father’s dream was for her to one day partner with Chad and run the firm. Especially now that Khendra and Sean had relocated to New York to open their own offices. But that was his dream. At least the part about running the firm. She had no inclination to become trapped behind the bars—no pun intended—of political etiquette and intrigue. Pairing up with Chad, however, was an entirely different story.

Samantha smiled as she signed her name with a flourish on the last invoice in the pile and filled out the accompanying check for payment.

Chad. She glanced at the phone and then at the clock. It was almost ten. She barely hesitated as she pulled the phone toward her and dialed her parents’ home.

Simone took the blue plastic basket of laundry and sorted through the clothes as she made the appropriate choices and dropped them into the machine. Adding detergent and fabric softener—because she was never on time with the softener—she switched the dial to Hot and Start.

The sound of the rushing water and the low hum of the washer was comforting in a way as she moved through her two-bedroom apartment, dusting, mopping, discarding, and changing sheets and towels. It was nearly eleven, and the pangs of hunger threatened to overshadow her zest for domesticity. She recalled Chad’s invitation of the previous night. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer of lunch—or dinner.

She pressed her lips together, debating whether to call him or not. After all, she didn’t want him to think she was too eager, or worse—desperate.

She weighed her options. The worst that could happen was that he would tell her he was busy. The best, that he wasn’t and would love to see her.

The phone seemed to beckon her from its perch of honor on the kitchen wall. Twisting her mouth in the final stages of contemplation, she snatched the phone from the cradle and punched in her parents’ phone number.

Dottie answered on the second ring.

“Montgomery residence.”

“Mornin’, Dottie. It’s me, Simone.”

“Hi, dahlin’. What can I do for you? Your mom and pop are still asleep—or at least they haven’t been seen today.” She chuckled merrily. “You’d think those two were teenagers.” She laughed again and Simone smiled, hoping that one day she’d find not just the lust but the love her parents had.