by Robin Allen
Mahogany Pembroke tables, square-back Grecian scroll-arm sofas and matching card tables graced the State Drawing Room. Classic Greek-key design motif was reflected in the molded plasterwork of cornices and the ceiling.
In the cherry-paneled Library, Sage noticed books by Georgia authors such as Joel Chandler Harris, Erskine Caldwell and Flannery O’Connor. The shelves were filled with books about county histories and other works about Georgia.
“Who’s this strange-looking man?” Ava asked, pointing to the engraved portrait of General James Oglethorpe on the Pembroke table near the antique scroll-arm sofa.
“He’s the founder of Georgia.”
“How do you know that?” Ava asked flippantly.
“I just finished working on the new brochure we’re putting together about the Mansion.”
“Oh, I thought you knew everything.”
“I do,” Sage said jokingly.
They moved into the Circular Hall, aptly named for the cascading stairs winding down from the second floor in a circular fashion. A daffodil-yellow chaise lounge blended tastefully with the yellow walls.
“Umh, umh, umh. Those stairs are bad,” Ava said.
“I know. I was thinking about having the wedding in here.”
“Yeah, you could walk down those steps, and take your vows over there,” Ava said, pointing to the white-framed entranceway with two white pillars. “Or right here,” Ava said, moving under the nineteenth-century gilt-wood chandelier on the other side of the circular stairs. “Either way, it would be live. I can’t wait.”
“You would think you’re the one getting married,” Sage said, her fingers gingerly touching the Benjamin Franklin vase—a rare French porcelain, the rarest piece in the Mansion.
“Sage, you should have heard Mama’s voice when I told her you were getting married in the Governor’s Mansion. She is so proud of you.”
“I haven’t made up my mind about having the wedding ceremony inside the Mansion or outside in the gardens.”
“Either way, I know it’s going to be beautiful,” Ava said.
“So did you notice anything missing here?”
“Like what?”
“The paintings, the artwork, the décor. Isn’t something missing?” Sage asked.
“It’s all very ritzy and elegant. Everything is so formal, how do you relax around here? If you just want to kick back and chill, those old, ugly guys in the pictures will be staring at you.”
“No, silly. The family’s quarters are upstairs, and they’ve been redesigned to accommodate Cameron and his family.”
“So what’s missing?”
“Black art, black paintings, black sculptures. We need black artwork in here,” Sage said.
“Oh, yeah!” Ava looked around at the estate paintings and the fine antiques. “Put some people on the walls that I can relate to.” Ava started giggling. “But I have a funny feeling that might stir folks up. Like those rich old ladies with nothing to do but kick up a fuss.”
“We just won’t tell anybody,” Sage said.
* * * * *
The power brokers convened around the mahogany table in Cameron Hudson’s private conference room. It was after five o’clock, and Georgia’s new governor and his advisors were discussing their legislative agenda. The meeting had begun three hours earlier and had survived interruptions for phone calls and faxes. For some, coffee and Coca-Cola would be replaced with scotch and whiskey.
For the first time since the Governor’s Mansion was opened in 1968, the power players sitting around the conference table did not fit the Southern political profile—white, male and wealthy. This was a diverse group of men and women from different racial persuasions and economic backgrounds. There were Cameron Hudson, Sage Kennedy, Edwin Williamson, Lieutenant Governor Bradford Welch, Bill Shapely and Alfreda Williams.
They had already discussed gubernatorial appointments to various state organizations and committees—board members for the Georgia Lottery Corporation, members for the State Board of Regents, open positions on the Governor’s Commission on Effectiveness Economy, one position on the Public Service Commission, positions on the Health Strategies Council and the Judicial Nominating Commission, and an opening on the National Resources Board. They’d suggested people for these positions, examining candidates’ experience and backgrounds and, most importantly, scrutinizing candidates’ political alliances.
“Now, let’s talk about the flag,” Cameron said, making notes on the files in front of him.
“It’s a can of worms,” Bill Shapely said, a master behind-the-scenes strategist. “It’s going to be difficult to get it passed.”
“Difficult, but not impossible,” Edwin Williamson said, chairman of the local Democratic Party. “Have you seen the editorial in the newspaper?” Edwin handed Bill the Atlanta Times, folded to the Editorials section of the newspaper. “It will help us.”
Bill took the newspaper and quickly scanned the editorial.
Will Governor Hudson Succeed in Changing the State Flag?
The new governor proposes removing the Confederate emblem from the official banner of Georgia’s state flag, carrying his predecessor’s torch. I share his view that the red, star-studded Confederate cross is a symbol of bigotry and racism… But, whether the legislature approves a new flag will represent the progress Georgia has made in race relations. (Drew Evans, Staff Writer, Editorials, Atlanta Times, January 29, 1998)
Bill Shapely shook his head. “Let’s hope this editorial will influence the masses.”
“It definitely will help our cause. Since it’s not an election year, I think legislators will be more receptive to the idea,” Sage said. “Polls show that businesses are favorable to changing the flag.”
“I think the problem the last time around wasn’t just that the governor wanted to change the flag, it was that he wanted to change the flag to another Confederate emblem. Too much negativity is associated with any Confederate symbol,” Cameron said.
“That’s why we had such a hard time getting support from some of the committees,” said Alfreda Williams, a two-term legislative member of the Black Caucus.
“I suggest that we change the flag entirely. Nothing from the Confederacy. A new design altogether,” Sage proposed.
“I agree,” Cameron said.
“We can either legislate the new flag or hold a special election and ask voters to pick the flag they want. We give them two choices,” Lieutenant Governor Welch said.
“Excellent, excellent,” Bill Shapely said.
“We could probably get the House to pass on it if we let the voters decide on the design,” Sage said.
“Yes, that way they won’t lose as much politically,” Bill Shapely said.
“If that works, then I won’t have to give up control of the Public Safety Committee,” Cameron said.
Nodding in agreement, the lieutenant governor said, “We just got that with the last session.”
“I know, but I was going to trade off control of the Public Safety Committee for the flag. Now we need to come up with a new design that Georgians will accept.”
* * * * *
Butterflies were chasing her. They chased her through the thicket of trees, past the gazebo and around the rose bushes. Sage turned and saw more butterflies descending upon her. She started running faster and faster, then suddenly could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet. She kicked her legs and felt herself rising into the air, flying with the butterflies.
* * * * *
Sage flashed open her eyes and was relieved to realize that she was lying in her bed. She closed her eyes, but couldn’t go back to sleep. She got out of bed and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Looking out the window, she noticed that Ava’s black Toyota Celica was missing from the driveway. She opened the garage to see if Ava had parked the car inside. Her stomach dived when she saw the empty spot next to her car.
“Where is she?” Sage wondered aloud.
She sprinted up the stairs and ope
ned the door to Ava’s bedroom. There were signs of her hurry-scurry to get dressed: clothes and costume jewelry scattered on the bed and hanging out of drawers, and pairs of stockings and shoes lying on the carpet.
Ava had gone to a nightclub, Sage remembered, realizing that her sister went to clubs once or twice a week.
Grim news reports flashed in Sage’s mind: woman snatched from the ATM, girl disappeared from her home, woman’s unidentified body found in pond. Atlanta news stations were always reporting tragic news about women. Sage picked up the phone and dialed Ramion’s number.
“Ava’s not home,” she said, her tone frantic, when she heard Ramion’s sleepy voice.
“Where did she go?”
“She went to some club with Marika, but it’s after four. She should have been home by now.”
“Some clubs stay open until six.”
“On a weeknight?”
“Calm down, Sage. I’m sure she’s fine. They probably went to get something to eat.”
“What if the car broke down?”
“That’s what I say when you insist on going home at three in the morning.”
“Ramion, this is not the time to argue with me. I’m really worried that something’s happened to her.”
“Baby, nothing has happened to Ava. She’s probably on her way home.”
“I should put a phone in that car.”
“Do you want me to come over there?”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Don’t go out looking for her.”
“I won’t.”
Sage hung up the phone and went into the kitchen. She made a pot of espresso and poured herself a cup. After a half hour passed, she decided to call Drew because he knew the club scene. The phone rang fifteen times before he answered.
“Drew, sorry to wake you, but Ava’s not home yet,” she said in a rush, her voice cloaked in anxiety.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” he replied groggily. “Maybe she went home with a friend.”
“She should have called me.”
“I saw her at Club Escape. Some guy was buying her a drink.”
“When was that?” Sage asked; her eyes veered to the clock on the wall.
“About one thirty.”
“That was more than three hours ago.”
“She’s fine, Sage. She’s out there having a good time, enjoying her freedom.”
Sage heard a car pull into the driveway. “There she is now,” Sage said with relief. “It’s five o’clock. How is she going to go to work?”
“She’s young. She can do it,” Drew said before hanging up the phone.
Ava opened the door and was surprised that she didn’t hear the chirp of the security alarm. She smelled the espresso brewing and realized that Sage was up.
“Ava, where have you been?” Sage demanded when Ava came rushing around the corner.
“I was hanging out!” she said, her words slipping out like blended ice.
“You had me worried.”
“About what? I can take care of myself.” Ava pulled off her shoes, placing them on the bottom of the stairs. She twirled around, gyrating her hips, dancing to the music in her head. “I was having fun. Big fun!”
“It’s dangerous out there so late at night.”
“Marika was with me. I saw Drew, and I met some new people.”
“So I was worried for nothing,” Sage said, sarcasm heavy in her tone.
“Chill out! We just went out to get something to eat.”
Noticing her sister’s saucer-wide eyes and high energy, Sage said, “Ava, I hope you’re not doing drugs!”
“Stop bothering me. I’m finally having some fun in my life.” Ava started up the stairs. “And don’t worry, I’ll make it to work.”
* * * * *
“How can I get Ramion back?” Edwinna asked. She was curled up in the corner of the high-backed sofa in her living room. The television and the radio were on, pop music and news competing for attention.
“Girl, you need to get Ramion off your mind and think about Medu,” said Savannah, Edwinna’s only girlfriend. They had become friends in boarding school, where they were the only black students in the all-girl school.
“Medu’s lame.”
“That’s not what you told me the first time you went to bed with him,” Savannah said, flipping her long black hair behind her shoulders. She was sitting on the floor, her long, thin legs crossed, leafing through the magazines beneath the coffee table.
“I didn’t say he couldn’t screw. That’s all he’s good for.”
“Winna, you’re cold, girl, and you’re crazy He’s gonna have big money. His paintings are becoming very popular.”
“So?”
“It’s all about the dollars, baby! You know Ramion can’t stack up against what Medu is going to make when his paintings hit big,” Savannah said, raising her grey eyes from the latest copy of Ebony magazine that was spread across her lap.
“It doesn’t matter. I want Ramion.” Edwinna leaned over to pick up her glass of wine from the side table. “And I just hate it that he’s engaged to her. She should have blown up in that explosion.”
“Edwinna!”
“I don’t care. I can’t stand that green-eyed bitch!” She crunched her face into a deep frown. “If it wasn’t for her, Ramion would still be with me.”
“But he’s not, girl. So get over it and move on.”
“It’s not that simple, Savvy,” she said. “Now help me figure out how to get him back.”
“Umh, umh, umh, you still love the brother.” Savannah got up and turned off the radio, then turned up the volume on the television so she could hear the news. “Well, do you still have a key to his place?”
“He never gave me one, but I had a key made when he was over here.”
Not surprised at her friend’s stealthy behavior, Savannah laughed. “You were scheming then.”
“So you think I should go over there one night, maybe one or two in the morning, when he’d be asleep?”
“Make sure she isn’t there.”
“I know that!”
“And just climb in the bed and show him what he’s been missing,” Savannah said, a wicked grin curling her thin lips.
Closing her eyes and recalling memories of a night with Ramion, Edwinna stomped her feet on the floor. “What I wouldn’t do to be in bed with him,” she said.
“Was he that damn good?”
“Girl, yes! Want to see?”
“What are you talking about?” Savannah asked.
“I taped us together one time.”
“He didn’t mind?”
“He didn’t know.”
“Ooh, girl, show me the tape!”
“But when I told him the camera was on, he made me turn it off. Just when we were getting to the good part,” Edwinna said.
“I still want to see it.”
“Okay, but let’s get back to your idea. You think I should sneak into his house and climb in bed with him?”
“Uh-huh, if you could arrange it so that she catches you in bed with him, then she’ll call off the wedding.”
“That would be so sweet.” Edwinna’s eyes glazed with hope.
“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Savannah said. “He might screw you and leave you, like most men.” She dipped a nacho in the hot salsa before munching on it. Changing subjects, she asked, “So are you really going to run for the state senate?”
“If I get him back, I won’t be bothered. If I don’t, you can be sure I’m going to run against his black ass. Show him and his little nobody girlfriend that they can’t mess with me.”
* * * * *
The sun filtered through the blinds in Ramion’s corner office on the fifteenth floor. There was a beautiful view of the western corner of downtown Atlanta, although Ramion rarely stopped long enough to look out the window at the tall buildings—the Omni, Georgia Congress Center and Peachtree Center reaching toward the sky. Thick law books filled floor-to-ceiling
bookcases on two walls. Ramion’s undergraduate degree from Howard and his law degree from Harvard hung on a wall in gold frames that his mother had proudly chosen.
Ramion was so busy peering through a casebook looking for a precedent-setting case on search-and-seizure law for a client that he didn’t hear his father enter the office.
Raymond Sandidge quietly watched his son at work for several minutes before clearing his throat to get his attention. He admired his son’s intelligence and accomplishments, and he’d always known that Ramion would succeed. Ramion had always been a dreamer and achiever, and law, in particular, had always fascinated him. Raymond remembered watching the Perry Mason television show with Ramion. Most often Ramion would solve the mystery long before he did, although Raymond would never admit it. Today, however, he couldn’t stop himself from bragging about his son, especially to his new golfing buddies at the country club.
“Hey, son,” Raymond said quietly when Ramion didn’t seem to hear him.
Ramion jerked his head up. Surprise turned to pleasure when he saw his father standing there, looking dapper in green pants and a dark-green sweater. “Hi, Pops,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Hungry? How about a cookie?” Ramion offered, indicating a basket of cookies decorated to resemble a dozen flowers. “Sage sent them.”
Raymond glanced at the basket, noticing the word “Congratulations” scrawled on it. “Congratulations for what?”
“I won a case somewhat unexpectedly,” he said. Observing his father’s worried expression, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Walter’s in jail.”
“Uncle Walter? What’s he doing in jail?” Ramion asked, coming around his desk. “Sit down, Pops.”
With a loud sigh, Raymond dropped into a chair across from Ramion’s desk. “Hayley says he raped her.”
“What?” Ramion exclaimed. He seldom saw his father’s brother but he’d attended his uncle’s wedding to Flora Bell Cook two years ago. She had three beautiful teenage daughters: Hayley, Ashley and Whitney. Sixteen-year-old Hayley was the oldest.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, son. No one will tell me anything. I went down to the jail, but they won’t let me bail him out.”
