Finding Mr. Right

“Miss Cunningham, this is Barbara Johnson. We have a position for a counselor that I overlooked when we spoke before. Would you come in tomorrow at nine for an interview?”

“Yes, I’ll be glad to. Thank you.”

The next morning at nine, Tyra stepped into the Legal Aid Center wearing a white linen suit and tank top, white sandals and bag.

The sisters liked to pull rank, but regardless of status, they appreciated class when they saw it.

Two hours later, she’d been interviewed by a supervisor, examined by a medical doctor and fingerprinted. She had also filled out a questionnaire that contained at least two dozen questions, and she was ready to say, “No more.”

“This will be your office,” Barbara Johnson said, “and your secretary sits next door. After two weeks, you’ll be asked whether you want to keep her or hire one whose skills and personality better suit you. We’d like you to begin tomorrow, but if you prefer you can wait until Monday.”

Nothing needed her urgent attention. Indeed, if she didn’t start work the next day, she’d spend the rest of the week waiting for Monday. “I can begin tomorrow, Ms. Johnson. Would you tell me who I report directly to?”

“Mr. Riddick is in charge of counseling. He’ll introduce you to your associates when you come tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Ms. Johnson. You’ve been so helpful.”

As Tyra left the center, she encountered a young good-looking brother. “Things are definitely looking up around here,” he said as he held the door for her. “I’m Christopher Fuller, and I hope you’re going to be working here.”

“I’m Tyra Cunningham. Glad to meet you.” She extended her hand, smiled and kept walking. She liked his looks, but she suspected that he could be full of himself. He didn’t seem to doubt his attractiveness, and that type had always bored her.

There I go prejudging men. I’m supposed to be looking for a guy, not necessarily to marry, but to get Clark and Darlene off my back. She thought for a second. Maggie, too. If they saw me with that guy, they’d mind their own business. He’s a looker. But something tells me he won’t measure up to Byron. Still…

Tyra plotted to find a man, who might make her reaction to Byron Whitley seem like a child’s delight with a new toy. Meanwhile Byron was arriving at the conclusion that Tyra could be important to him and that he wanted to see more of her. He rarely made a mistake when it came to women, and he didn’t think he’d made one with her. He’d gotten a wallop when he first met her. He knew he could lose interest in Tyra simply by staying away from her and by seeing other women. But to his astonishment, he didn’t want to do that. She intrigued him, and he wanted her.

“I’m wasting time,” he said to himself, recognizing something that was out of character for him, and lifted the telephone receiver.

“Ms. Cunningham’s not home, Mr. Whitley,” Maggie said when he asked for Tyra. “She ought to be back anytime now. I’ll tell her you called. You want her to call you?”

“Thanks, but I’ll try reaching her again later. Goodbye.”

He tapped the fingers of his right hand on his desk. “Now what?”

He phoned his aunt, his mother’s sister, who lived with him and took care of four-year-old Andy when he wasn’t at home. “My dad and Andy caught some striped bass this past weekend. Dad cleaned them, and I put them in the freezer. Would you mind cooking them for dinner? Andy is proud of them, and the sooner we eat them, the happier he’ll be.”

“I’ll be glad to cook them. You know I love fish. Why don’t you call your dad and ask him to have dinner with us tonight?” Jonie said.

“Good idea. Would you mind calling him? I’ll be busy for the next few hours.”

“I’ll call him. If you bring home some vanilla or strawberry ice cream for desert.”

“Will do. Andy will be ecstatic.”

He hung up and buzzed his secretary. “Ask Mrs. Foxx to come in, please.” For nearly a month, he’d been trying to figure out why the woman wanted him to be her lawyer. Rich as she was, she could have any lawyer she chose. He decided to stop guessing her reasons and ask her.

“Before we go further with this case, Mrs. Foxx, would you tell me why you want me to take your case? I’m a criminal lawyer. Yours is a civil suit and you’re not asking for money. Why?”

“I want an apology in The New York Times, and you can get that for me.” That wasn’t reason enough for her insistence that he take her case. She had met him at a reception in the mayor’s office and asked for his card. He remembered her. Any man would remember a woman who looked like her. But blond hair and blue eyes didn’t turn him on. The opportunity arose earlier than he’d expected.

“I shouldn’t take up so much of your time, Mr. Whitley. Why don’t we discuss this over dinner and drinks. We’d both be…more relaxed, and we’d get more done.”

He forced a half smile. “I don’t discuss business after my working hours, Mrs. Foxx. No, thanks. In fact, I advise you to get another lawyer. This case is not for me.”

He stood and extended his hand. “Thanks for considering me.”

She took his hand and held it. “It would have been nice. Very nice.” Head held high and shoulders back, she walked out of his office as if her brazen suggestion had not been thwarted. He buzzed his assistant. “Get me some information on Mrs. Foxx’s husband, please.”

“I have a file on them, sir. I’ll bring it right in.”

He flipped through the file. Hmm. Just as he’d thought. She’d married a rich man many years her senior and she was paying the price. He put the file in his out-box and buzzed his secretary. “Whenever Mrs. Foxx calls, I’m unavailable.”

A glance at his watch told him that if he wanted to speak with Tyra, he’d better call right then. He dialed her number.

“Hello, Tyra, this is Byron. How are you?”

“I feel as if I could jump across the Potomac. I just got a job, and I think it’s perfect for me, that is, if I get some interesting clients.”

“Congratulations. That’s good news, indeed. What will you be doing?”

“I’ll be counseling at the Legal Aid Center, and they want me to start tomorrow.”

“This is wonderful. I marvel at how much you and I have in common. When you get down to it, a lawyer is a counselor.”

“I hadn’t thought of the similarity, and I definitely wouldn’t compare what I’ll be doing with what you do.”

“Yes, but if you’re successful, a lot of people won’t need me. I called because I want to see you. We could go to the Kennedy Center or hear Kiri Te Kanawa at Wolf Trap. If that doesn’t suit you, I could pack us a picnic basket and we could go to Meridian Hill or the Tidal Basin and just be together. The sun doesn’t set before nine-thirty.”

Her silence told him that he had either surprised her or that she didn’t care for his plans. Well, he had patience. Finally she said, “I love the picnic idea, but I haven’t heard Kiri Te Kanawa sing in a long time, so—”

“There’s no reason why we can’t do both, and I’d be much happier. The concert is Saturday evening. We could have our picnic Friday evening in Meridian Hill and at the same time listen to a baroque ensemble. Would you like that?”

“Byron, you’ve discovered my weaknesses. I think it’s a great idea.”

“Then I’ll be at your house Friday afternoon at five-thirty so we can pick a good spot.”

“I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

He hung up. She’d hesitated, and he wondered why. She was attracted to him, and they both knew it, so what held her back? If she was in a dilemma about him, he’d make up her mind for her the first chance he got. And if an opportunity didn’t come along naturally, he’d make one.

Byron Whitley was rushing her, and although she wanted to see him, she also wanted the experience of finding the kind of man she liked for herself. She didn’t need a matchmaker to fix up her life. She closed her eyes and imagined him kissing her. Her annoyance at Clark and Darlene had all but disappeared, but she still intended to show them that she was capable of managing her own love life. She was attracted to Byron…at least so far, but they didn’t have to know it.

“You going in for a swim?” Barbara asked her the next day at lunch. “The pool’s right behind us. It belongs to the Parks Department, but it’s never crowded. A lunchtime swim can relax you for the rest of the day.”

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit, but I’ll have a look at the swimming pool.” She took the elevator to the ground floor and followed the signs. At a door marked POOL, she read a plaque: “Gift from Morris Hilliard to the Legal Aid Center workers with gratitude.” Very interesting, she thought, wondering what the center had done for Morris Hilliard. Streams of water cascaded from a single, fifty-foot wall, in a waterfall of rainbow colors. Blue and white tiles paved the entrance to the pool and the area surrounding it.

She glanced at the man sprawled out in a red chaise longue. She couldn’t see his face, but his swim trunks advertised his seemingly more than ample equipment. She walked in the opposite direction in hopes of seeing his face without him noticing. The dark glasses did little to camouflage him, because they hardly covered his eyes. Christopher Fuller. She should have known.

Pool or no pool, it doesn’t seem appropriate for the office. But oh, the tantalizing picture he made lying in that chaise. She shrugged, and admitted to herself that she had no right to judge Christopher Fuller.