“I’ll have the same,” Rhoda said, “but hold those hot peppers.”
“Not to worry. We only give you those if you ask for ’em.”
“What’s Lawrence up to these days, Pam? If I turn my back, he’s in your office. Is there… I mean…do you want to see him?”
“Me? Want to see Lawrence? That man affects me exactly the way a swarm of mosquitoes would, and he’s got the hide of a rhinoceros.”
“I wouldn’t like to be the object of his affection. He’s too devious. I’d better tell you he’s boasting that you and he are an item.”
She nearly spilled her ice water. “In his dreams. Put a note on every bulletin board in this building to the effect that Lawrence Parker is lying, that he’s never been anywhere with me outside of the building and that I want him to stay out of my office.”
Rhoda struggled without success to keep the grin off her round brown face. “That will give me more pleasure than this catfish. And girl, I do love me some catfish.”
“Sure would quicken my steps, but I guess we’d better not do that. I’ll find another way to make him grow up.”
She had treated the matter lightly, but the man worried her. A normal man over thirty-five years of age—she was certain of that much—didn’t behave as Lawrence Parker did.
“I sure hope I’m around when you blow him over. Say, how was your date Friday night?”
“My date? Oh, you mean… Disaster, girl. I had not one flat tire, but two, and by the time I got to the restaurant, almost two hours late, he’d left.”
“You didn’t call him? I mean, doesn’t he have a cell phone?”
“He does, but mine was at the station on my desk.” She stopped eating, lost in thoughts of what might have been.
Rhoda rested her knife and fork and leaned back in the chair. “But you patched it up later, right?”
Pamela lifted her right shoulder in a quick shrug. “I phoned his house and left a message. But if he got it, he didn’t return my call.”
“I see. You sound crestfallen. What’s this guy like?”
“A tan-colored Adonis. Mesmerizing good looks. A grin that will make you cross your knees, and sweet as sugar. He’s too good to be true.”
“If what you say is right, he sure is. I’d be scared as hell of him.”
Pamela ate the remainder of the catfish and pushed her plate aside. “He knows he’s great-looking, but when women fawn over him, it gets on his nerves.”
“You’re kidding. You mean, he’s not a stud?”
“Good Lord, no. If he was, I wouldn’t have gone out the door to meet him.”
Rhoda looked into the distance, her expression suggesting a sense of wonder. “I wish you luck, but I’d stay away from that brother.”
It was much too late for that advice, but she didn’t tell Rhoda that. Lecturing herself about Drake Harrington had gotten her nowhere. She knew him well enough to be certain that he was far more than what he looked like—six feet and four inches of male perfection—that he was a serious-minded, hardworking and caring person who loved his family and was generous with his friends.
“I’m no slouch,” she said to herself, “but what makes me think Drake Harrington is going to settle for me when he can have just about any woman he wants?”
“I don’t give advice,” Rhoda said, “and especially not to you, since you’ve done far more with your life than I have with mine. Still—”
“Out with it,” Pamela said. “Who knows? It might be just what I need to hear.”
Rhoda savored the last morsel of catfish, placed her knife and fork across her clean plate, and leaned back in her chair. “I was going to retract what I said a minute ago. If he’s all that nice, and he’s interested, go for it and enjoy it for as long as it lasts, but don’t fall too deeply in love.”
Pamela leaned forward as if to be certain Rhoda heard her. “I’d like to see the woman who could bask in that man’s attention and, when his interest cooled, walk away unscathed as if she’d merely said ‘hi’ to him.”
Rhoda’s eyebrows shot up. “That bad, huh?”
They barely spoke as they walked down Linden Avenue to Monument Street, each in her own mental realm. “I’ll tell you one thing,” Rhoda said as they entered the building that housed the TV station, “I’d watch my back. Half the women you know will be trying to get close to you, hoping to catch his eye.”
“Not me. My dad says that if a man wants to go, buy him a ticket. The sooner he’s gone, the better, because eventually, he will leave. You won’t catch me clinging to anyone, male or female. My friends have the freedom to do as they please.” She waved at the desk officer, who checked entrance badges.
“You two are looking great there,” he said. “Nothing like a couple of fine-looking sisters to brighten a man’s day.” They smiled and kept walking. Ben enjoyed complimenting them.
Back in her office, Pamela checked her desk phone and her cell phone, saw that she didn’t have any messages, pulled off her jacket and went to work. Twice that morning, she’d changed her lead story for the local evening news, and now this. A woman was shopping in the supermarket, turned her back to select a head of lettuce, and when she looked around her three-year-old daughter had disappeared and had not been seen since. She got busy trying to piece together the bits of information floating in and, once more, rearranged the order of her news item. By five o’clock, she had what she considered a first-class report, but Lawrence cracked the door and handed her a sheet of paper.
“Sorry, pal. Your producer gave me this a little while ago, but I swear I forgot it. No hard feelings?” She didn’t answer him. His smile, brilliant and false, nearly sickened her. He had deliberately withheld one of the most important items of the day: Station WRLR had just joined the NBC family of stations. She pushed the button on her intercom and got the producer.
“Jack, when did you tell Lawrence to give me this merger notice?”
“Around eleven this morning. Why?”
“Because he gave it to me less than a minute before I paged you, and he knows I’m going on the air in ten minutes.”
“Okay. Read it straight. I’ll take care of Parker.”
On her way home, she stopped at a garden center and bought a rubber garden snake. The next morning, she got to work early and glued the serpent to Lawrence’s door. Even if he took it off, the perfect outline of a snake would be there until the door was painted. She dusted her hand as if she were getting rid of something unwanted, went to her office and left it to Lawrence to discover the identity of the donor. She understood now that Lawrence would be even more of a problem as she continued to reject him.
“I’ve fought worse battles,” she said aloud. She gathered her notebook and headed for the station’s library, wondering why Drake didn’t call her.
As the big British Airways plane neared Kotoka International Airport in Accra, Ghana, Drake began to wonder what he would find. He disliked such tropical pests as mosquitoes, flies, sandflies and especially snakes. And he didn’t know whether he was going to a thatched roof in a rural area or a skyscraper in Accra. He knew that Ladd belonged to the Fanti tribe—historically the elite of Ghana, not that it mattered what status his friend had—and that meant he’d be somewhere near the coast. The plane landed, and in his befuddled state of mind, he thought that his trip would have been more enjoyable if Pamela had been with him. Try as he may, he could not remember why he wanted to end their relationship. He hadn’t ventured too far with her, not even when he kissed her. More than once, she’d indicated a desire for a little more passion. He dragged his fingers through his hair. He’d known other girls, so why was he focusing on Pamela?
He disembarked, walked into the terminal and saw Ladd waiting, his face shining with a brilliant smile.
“Welcome. Man, am I glad to see you! I need a calming influence. Never get married. Women think the purpose of marriage is to spend money and reinvent the world in the process. Man, I’m worn out just watching them.”
Had he forgotten Ladd’s ability to talk nonstop for hours? He could almost feel the man’s happiness. “Don’t watch them,” Drake said. “Besides, I didn’t know Ghanaian women did that. I thought that was peculiarly American.”
“Oh, no. Something tells me it’s worldwide. How was your flight?” He motioned to the man standing beside him to take Drake’s bags.
“Smooth as silk. I slept most of the way between London and Accra.” They stepped out into the heat. “Whew! I’d better remove my coat. Say, I’m anxious to meet your bride.”
“She’s nice, man. Really nice.”
“Way to go, buddy.” A question had plagued him ever since he got the invitation and the note saying Ladd wanted him to be his best man. Well, he was paying his own fare, so he could ask if he wanted to know. “What kind of service are you having? Are there a lot of things I have to learn?”
Ladd stared at him. “What kind of— Oh, we’re Protestants. Everything will be familiar. All you have to do is stand there and keep me from passing out. How long can you stay?”
“Keep you from passing out?” Laughter rippled out of him, partly at the idea of Ladd fainting, but mainly because he knew what was expected of him. “Sorry. I didn’t think I’d need smelling salts. I’m leaving day after tomorrow. We’ve got buildings going up in two different states and in Barbados, and I’m strapped for time.”
“Too bad you won’t get to see much of the country. I told our interior minister that you might give him some ideas about the new shopping mall he wants built. Think you can spend about an hour with him?”
“No problem. Remember that I’m an architectural engineer, not an architect.”
“Yeah. I told him that. He wants to meet you. I had white trousers, an agbada, a dashiki and a kufi made for you. I’m sure they’ll fit, except maybe the kufi, but you’d better try them on.”
Drake paused momentarily when he remembered that a few steps away stood an air-conditioned car in which he would get relief from what seemed like taking a sauna while wearing a woolen sweater and an overcoat.
“I know the agbada is a long gown and the dashiki is a shirt, but what the devil is a kufi?”
“It’s a matching…you know…cap. We’re having a modern Christian wedding, but to satisfy my grandfather, you and I are wearing traditional dress.”
“What about the bride?”
He shrugged. “I’m not supposed to know, but she told me it’s a white dress.”
The following afternoon, around three o’clock, Drake dressed in the traditional clothing worn by a groom and his party and looked at himself in the mirror. “Hmm.” Adjusting the kufi, he wondered if any of his ancestors had worn one, shrugged and rang for the car that would take him to Ladd’s home. As he stepped out of the M Plaza Hotel—palatial by any measure—and into the Ghanaian heat, he wished he’d been going for a swim, but the air-conditioning in the Mercedes limousine immediately arrested his wayward thoughts. Ladd was ready when he arrived, and Drake had only a few minutes in which to observe his friend’s elegant living style.
At five o’clock, still struggling with the effects of jet lag, Drake stood with Ladd Sackefyio and his bride—who was dressed in a white, short-sleeved wedding gown decorated with white embroidery that was inset with brilliant crystals, and wearing a matching white crown—took their vows before an Anglican minister at the foot of the altar. Deeply touched by the simplicity of the ceremony and the smiles that never moved from the couple’s faces, he wondered if Russ had been right, that he’d begun to feel the loneliness of bachelorhood. He shrugged it off and went through the rituals of his duties at the reception, which included a toast and standing with the couple in case it seemed that they would topple the five-tier cake while trying to cut it.
Now, what am I supposed to do with this dame? he thought as he looked at the bridesmaid who made it clear to him and everyone at the reception that she wanted more from him than a smile. He had to be gracious. But he’d have preferred to paddle her for her lack of discretion. To worsen matters, she was an American, and the locals probably thought her behavior de rigueur for African-American women.
“Look,” he said to her when her cloying behavior annoyed him to the point of exasperation. “Cut me some slack here. I’d like to get to know some of the Ghanaian people.”
When she put her hands on her hips in a feigned pout, he walked away and a Ghanaian man immediately detained him. “I’m John Euwusi. We want to build a modern shopping mall here, and Ladd tells me you’re the man to talk to.”
Drake extended his hand. “He told me about you. I have to leave tomorrow afternoon, but we could speak in the morning, if you like.”
“Good. I’ll send my driver for you.”
At the end of their conversation the following morning, Drake agreed to discuss the matter with his brothers, for he didn’t work alone, but as a part of the Harrington, Inc. team. He hoped they could make a deal, because he wanted to get back to Ghana and see the country, including the old forts and castles associated with the slave trade.
As the Boeing 737 roared away from Kotoka International Airport, Drake glanced at the aisle seat across from his and nearly spilled the rum punch on his trousers. There sat Selicia Dennis, the bridesmaid who had attempted to hook her long pink-and-green talons into him. He liked assertive women, but the kind of aggression she displayed irritated him. He decided to behave as if he didn’t know she was there. And she wasn’t there by accident, he knew. In that circle, getting information about his departure and seat number was a simple matter. With the right influence, you got whatever you wanted.
He decided to focus on his seatmate, a man who bore the trappings of a gentleman, and introduced himself. “I’m Drake Harrington. Are you traveling all the way to the States?”
The man extended his hand. “Straight from London to San Antonio. I’m Magnus Cooper.”
They spoke at length, and Drake learned that the man was a Texas rancher, as well as a builder.
“How’s that?” he asked, when Magnus told him that he’d be in Baltimore at an undecided date to tape a program for his cousin’s TV news show. “People don’t seem to know that ranchers come in colors,” he added. “In Texas, you’ll find a number of hyphenated American ranchers—Spanish, Italian, black, Scottish, you name it.”
Drake mulled that over for a second before laughter rippled out of him. “I’m in Baltimore frequently. Who’s your cousin?”
“Pamela Langford. Her mother and my father are sister and brother. You know her?”
“I sure do.” He let it go at that and didn’t budge, not even when both of Magnus’s eyebrows went up and stayed there.
They spoke amiably until the plane landed at London’s Heathrow Airport. They exchanged contact information and agreed to talk soon. Drake was transferring to Delta and headed for his flight’s gate, but to his chagrin, when he arrived, Selicia Dennis stood to greet him. Having no acceptable choice, he took a seat and wished for something to read other than the International Herald Tribune that he carried in his briefcase.
“I live in Washington, D.C.,” she began. “How far are you from there?”
He told her he didn’t know, and she asked what state he lived in.
He folded the paper, put it back in his briefcase and faced her. “Miss Dennis, I don’t see the point in this. I don’t want to be rude, but you and I have absolutely no basis for a friendship of any kind, so let’s stop with the small talk. It’s a waste of breath.” He folded his arms, closed his eyes and managed to give the impression of someone asleep. He heard the call of a flight to Washington, and immediately she gathered her things and left. He walked a few paces down the corridor, bought a bag of fish-and-chips and a bottle of lemonade, went back to his seat and relaxed. Beautiful, sure of it and shallow. The kind of woman he avoided.
Maybe he didn’t sufficiently appreciate Pamela. Not once had he been bored in her company. He could talk with her for hours and not know how much time had passed. If she would only accept his need to grow a little more. If she’d wait until he reached his goals… He stared at the bag of soggy chips for a second before throwing them into the refuse bin. And what if she wouldn’t wait, but found another guy? A woman who looked like her could have just about any man she wanted, and with her charm, gentle manners and…well, intelligence and competence, she was choice. And sexy. He’d never known another woman who got next to him as she did.
He ran his fingers through his silky hair. So where the hell was she when she was supposed to be having dinner with me?
“Flight 803 to Baltimore now boarding first-class passengers and passengers with small children or who need assistance.” He heard the announcement, got up, went through security a third time and took his seat in the first-class section. He had six hours to think about what he wanted for himself and Pamela…provided she wanted anything from him at all.
Six hours and twelve minutes later, he walked into the Baltimore/Washington International Airport terminal, looked around and saw Russ walking toward him. As usual, after any of the brothers returned from a trip, they embraced each other. “That sun must really be something,” Russ said. “You were there less than three days, and you look as if you stuck your face in an inkwell. I saw Pamela in the market this morning.”
Drake stopped walking, a habit that annoyed Russ, but so what. “Did you speak with her?”
“Yeah. She asked me about Velma, but that’s all. She was as beautiful as ever, but downcast. I didn’t see any of that easy charm that I associate with her.”
He tried to hide his response to that kick in his gut, but he wasn’t sure he managed it, for Russ asked in his usually candid manner, “Something gone wrong with you two?”
“Let’s just say we’re not in touch right now.”
“Her choice or yours?”
“I’m not sure.”
Russ raised an eyebrow. “If it was her choice, she made it because you weren’t behaving the way she wanted you to. She was not a happy woman this morning.”
His heartbeat accelerated, and he had to breathe through his mouth. He didn’t want her to be unhappy; at least, he didn’t think so. But for what other reason was he experiencing such relief, almost a sense of glee? He threw his bag into the trunk of Russ’s Mercedes and got into the car beside his brother.
“When did you realize you loved Velma enough to marry her?”
Russ was in the process of starting the car and suddenly stripped the gears. “What? Oh. A long time before I admitted it to anybody, including Velma. Something happens, and suddenly you know. You just know it’s right.” He moved the car into the traffic. “Is that what you’re going through?”
“I don’t know. I was planning to tell her we shouldn’t see each other for a while, but while I was in Accra, I couldn’t for the life of me remember why I felt that way.”
Laughter rumbled in Russ’s throat. “Seems to me I’ve heard that song before. Don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for. Women hurt easily.”
“Yeah, and they’re not the only ones.”
Chapter 2
Pamela finished whipping a hem in her evening dress, slipped it on and examined herself in the mirror that covered the inside of a closet door. Burnt orange was her best color, and she wore it often. “I look great,” she said, and pulled air through her front teeth. “But what for? I don’t give a hoot about anybody who’s going to be at that reception.” Given the choice, she would have stayed at home. However, she didn’t have that option where a reception given by her boss was concerned, so she put on her mink coat, got the black satin evening bag that matched her shoes and went down to the apartment-building lobby.
“Could you call a taxi for me, please, Mike?”
“My pleasure, Miss Langford. I hope you’re meeting a fine young man. In my day, a lady such as yourself wouldn’t be alone for long.” He switched on the call light. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Langford, I was hoping to see more of that gentleman—Harrington is his name, I believe he said. I’ve lived a long time, and I know a man when I see one. He’s just what I’d want for my daughter if I had been fortunate enough to have one.”
The taxi arrived, and she thanked Mike, her favorite among the doormen who worked at her building. The short, fifteen-minute ride took her to the Sheraton and as she paid the driver, he turned, looked at her and said, “Some guy sure is lucky.”
“If you only knew,” she said as she stepped out, careful not to get her shoe heel caught in the hem of her dress.
“What? What did you say?”
She walked on without answering, and to her disgust, Lawrence met her at the door of the reception room. She knew at once that he’d waited there to give the impression that she was his date. Without a word, she swung around and went to the other entrance, which meant she would skip the receiving line, but she didn’t care. Immediately, she spotted Jack Hanson, her boss, and his wife and walked over to where they stood. Within less than a minute, Lawrence was at her side.
Seething, she knocked his hand away from her elbow. “Lawrence, I skipped the receiving line in order to avoid you, and I would appreciate it if you would stay away from me. If you don’t, I’ll make a scene.”
“Lovers’ spat,” he said to the couple.
“How dare you! You have never had your hands on me, and you know it. Furthermore, you never will. Not even if you were the only man on this earth.” She looked at her boss. “I’m sorry if this has spoiled your evening, but it’s what I have to tolerate in the office every day. Please excuse me.” She went to speak to her host, left the reception and went home.
As she entered her apartment, the telephone rang. “Hello.”
“Hi, this is Rhoda. I saw you leaving the reception as I was arriving. Are you all right?”
“My health is fine, but Lawrence tried to give the impression that we’re an item—even told Hanson and his wife that we were having a lovers’ spat. I’ve been in a rage ever since.”
“The pig! You didn’t let him get away with it, did you?”
“Of course not, but I was too mad to be sociable, so I left. You have a good time.”
“Thanks. So far, I’m bored to death.”
She undressed, crawled into bed and attempted to banish the images that frolicked around in her head. Images of her with Drake on a small, fast boat in the Monocacy River near Frederick, the way he loved the speed, his face alive with childlike joy. Images of Drake with her on the previous Christmas morning in Eagle Park as they stood just outside the front door of Harrington House looking at six feet of pristine snow. He had squeezed her hand, kissed the tip of her nose and told her how much he loved snow.
“Surely the Lord wouldn’t dangle that man in front of me just to tease me,” she said aloud. When sleep finally came, she had been exhausted for a long time.
The following evening, Wednesday, the day after his return from Ghana, Drake met Lawrence—a former school-mate—at an alumni meeting in Baltimore. As usual, Drake greeted him cordially.
“How’s it going, man?” Drake asked.
“Couldn’t be better. I’m seeing Pamela Langford these days. Man, she stood up a dinner date in order to see a movie with me. We’re getting pretty tight.”
He hoped the sharp pain in his chest didn’t signal the onset of a heart attack. However, he put a half smile of casual interest on his face and said, “Really. When was that?”
“Last Friday night. We’re together, man.”
He let the smile freeze on his face, patted Lawrence on the back and said, “Way to go, man.”
He had no reason to disbelieve him. After all, she hadn’t bothered to tell him that she couldn’t make their date or to use her cell phone to let him know she had a last-minute emergency. He shook his head from side to side, acknowledging that it strained his credulity to believe she would callously leave him sitting in a restaurant waiting for her for almost two hours. It was unlike her. He left the meeting, went to Russ’s apartment—where he would spend the night—and turned on the local evening news.
