by Robin Allen
The officer held out an envelope. “I have something for you.”
Sage stood up. “What is it?” she asked, staring into the officer’s stony face. The serious crease in his brows and the tightness around his mouth belied the mirth in his eyes. When Sage extended her hand to take the papers, the police officer handcuffed his hand to hers.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded angrily. She didn’t notice the flash of cameras as her picture was taken.
“Take these off,” she snapped. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
The laughter from the other women distracted her from her pique. “Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny!” Then she heard the unmistakable beat of a rap song, a thumping party groove.
“Miss Kennedy,” the police officer said, “I’m not taking you anywhere. But I do need your help.”
Sage burst into laughter, realizing that the young brother she was handcuffed to was not a police officer at all, but a stripper or dancer. She narrowed her eyes at Tawny, “Whose bright idea was this?”
“Ava’s,” Tawny said.
The music thumped on the boom box, and the women started clapping.
“I need you to help me take my clothes off,” the stripper said.
Her cheeks blushed in embarrassment. “I’m sure you can do it yourself.”
“I only have one hand free,” the police impostor taunted.
“I suppose the only way you’re going to take these handcuffs off is for me to help you,” Sage said.
“Exactly!” the stripper said, positioning his thumb and index finger like a gun.
With merriment in her eyes and a mischievous grin, Sage unbuttoned his shirt. And when she reached for his belt, some of her friends yelled, “Ooh, we didn’t think you’d go there!”
Sage unzipped his pants as the agile dancer moved his body in erotic rhythm to the music, gyrating his hips and pressing against Sage.
“Pull them down! Pull them down!” Ava screamed.
Sage hesitated before pulling the officer’s black pants from his hips. When Sage saw the red bikini, she covered her face. “That’s it! I can’t do any more.”
“You don’t have to, Miss Kennedy.” He unlocked the handcuffs. “Sit down. Watch and enjoy.”
Addressing the group of sexually charged women, the stripper said, “I’ve got something to cool you off.” Two young men came into the room, dressed as firemen in red raincoats and black hats, brandishing fire hoses.
To the beat of “Erotic City” by Prince, the three male dancers gyrated their hips and wiggled their behinds, removing their raincoats to reveal red bikinis. When they finished performing, each dancer presented Sage with a red rose.
Everyone clapped as the dancers left the room.
“Girlfriend, I’d love to take one of them home with me!”
“It’s been so long since I had any, I don’t know if I’d still know how.”
“I’ll take the tall one. I could teach him a few things. You know, ways to make a woman purr.”
Laughter abounded as the women talked and joked about the strippers. Tawny stood in the center of the room and announced, “The party’s not over yet. It’s fantasy time.” She walked over to Sage, who was sitting in a corner chair.
“Now what?” Sage asked.
“You get to read your friends’ sexual fantasies.” Tawny handed Sage a shoebox filled with folded sheets of paper. “You know, ideas for your honeymoon.”
“Hmh,” Sage said, a grin spreading across her face.
“We’ll be here all night,” someone complained. “I want to see her gifts.”
“Okay, okay,” Tawny said. “Just read three.”
Sage reached into the box and pulled out a piece of paper. She quickly read the three paragraphs and said, “I see someone has a dirty mind. A very dirty mind,” she repeated, wondering who wrote what she was about to read.
“I hear you, girl,” Tawny said.
“Listen up,” Sage said. “This is from…”
“Don’t read the name,” a high-pitched voice said.
Sage sipped her margarita and said, “Girlfriends, I hope you didn’t write about anything you wouldn’t want the rest of us to hear. You know, stuff about whips and chains and…”
“Go on, read one,” Ava urged.
With an impish smile, Sage began to read the sexual fantasy. “I walk into a darkened room, and a deep, unfamiliar voice says ‘hello’. I say ‘hello’, and he says, ‘I can’t wait to lick you where you’re hot. I’ll slither my tongue around your tender spot…’”
* * * * *
“Sage, there are some senior citizens here to see you,” Marika said as she entered Sage’s office.
Staring at her computer monitor, Sage didn’t look up. Her fingers moving deftly over the keyboard, she asked, “What do they want to see me for?”
“They’re from the Preserve the Mansion Committee,” Marika said, placing a business card on Sage’s desk.
“Damn,” Sage muttered. “How did they find out about what we’re doing?”
“I don’t know. But they’re some mean-looking old biddies. I’d be afraid to tell them you’re busy, they might have me for lunch.”
Sage leaned back in her chair and ran her hands through her hair. “How many are there?”
“Two.”
Sage was quiet for a minute, deciding how to handle them. “Tell them to come in. But buzz me in ten minutes to say that the governor wants to see me.” Sage stood up and walked over to the door. She put on her double-breasted navy suit jacket. “Thank goodness I dressed conservatively today.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t wear that black miniskirt,” Marika teased.
A few minutes later, two elderly white women entered Sage’s office.
“Welcome, Ladies,” Sage said, with a cheerful smile. She started to offer her hand, but remembered that the women were from a generation when women didn’t shake hands. “I’m Sage Kennedy.”
“Hello. I’m Lilah Chambers and this is Ethel Newman.”
“It’s a pleasure meeting you ladies. Won’t you please take a seat?” Sage offered, leading the women to the conference table.
They sat down opposite Sage.
“Would you like something to drink?” Sage offered. “Coffee, tea, soda…”
“No, thank you. We aren’t here to socialize. We’ve come to protest,” Ms. Chambers said.
Sage raised her eyebrows. “I see.”
“I’ve heard, from a very good source, that you plan to completely renovate the Mansion and get rid of the beautiful artwork,” Ms. Chambers said, her mouth tight.
“Yes, you’re going to replace the beautiful paintings with works by blacks,” Ms. Newman said. She coughed a bit and continued, “I mean, African Americans. We don’t think that is appropriate.”
“First, let me assure you that we are not renovating the Mansion. We are, however, enhancing the Mansion to include creations by black artists. We feel that the Governor’s Mansion should reflect the people who helped build this great state. Blacks have contributed to its growth and development in many ways. Right now, there isn’t a single painting, sculpture or book by a black artist anywhere in the Mansion.”
“You may not know this, but some of the pieces are quite rare, Miss Kennedy,” Ms. Chambers said. “They shouldn’t be hidden away.”
“Our plan is to donate any pieces that are replaced to a museum or art gallery. As a matter of fact, you might be able to help with that.”
“How so?” Ms. Chambers asked, her lips pursed together in a curious expression.
“Perhaps you can help us find a new place for these works,” Sage said, the idea of soliciting their help just occurring as she spoke the words.
“Are you going to sell them?” Ms. Newman asked.
“We hadn’t considered that, but perhaps we could sell some and donate the proceeds to charity. Let me look into it but, in the meantime, would you be interested in helping us find a new home f
or the pieces?”
Ms. Chambers looked at Ms. Newman, who nodded with genteel grace. Ms. Chambers turned back to Sage. “Of course we’ll help.”
Sage escorted the women out of her office and then settled back at her desk. She was searching the computer for a presentation file when Marika knocked on her door.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Marika said. “You’ve got more visitors.”
“What’s with all the walk-ins? Don’t people make appointments?”
“I don’t know,” Marika said. “But I think you’ll want to talk to these people.”
Marika’s insistent tone caught her attention. Sage asked, “Who are they?”
“The FBI.”
“Oh, definitely,” Sage said. “Show them in.”
Agent Davis and Agent Bennett, the FBI agents who had visited her in the hospital after the bombing, walked into her office, their expressions unreadable as they approached her desk.
“How are you, Ms. Kennedy?” Agent Bennett asked.
“I’m just fine. Would you like to sit down?”
“No, thanks. We’ll get right to the point.”
“Please do,” Sage said, anxious to find out the reason for their visit.
“We have the man who burned the flag in your yard,” Agent Bennett said, standing directly in front of her desk.
“Great news!” Sage said and unconsciously clapped her hands. “What a relief. How did you find him so fast?”
“First, let me show you his picture,” Agent Bennett said, placing a black-and-white photograph on her desk. “Do you recognize this man?”
Sage peered at the picture of a scruffy-looking white man in his early twenties. His grimacing stare sent a bone-deep chill through her body as she thought about him prowling around her house. “I’ve never seen him. I told you that I hadn’t noticed anybody unusual by my house or here at work.”
“Your neighbor did,” Agent Davis said.
“Who? Mrs. Peterson?”
“Yes, she wrote down the license plate on his truck,” Agent Davis said.
Sage creased her brows together in a curious frown. “How did she…”
“He apparently was stupid enough to case out your neighborhood in broad daylight, then he came back to perform his dastardly deed in the very same truck,” Agent Bennett explained.
“Are you sure it’s him?”
“There’s no question he did it. He confessed, and he was stupid enough to brag to some of his buddies.”
“He’s not a bright fellow,” Agent Davis concurred.
“Was anybody else involved?” Sage asked. “Is he responsible for the bombing too?”
“Whoever planted that bomb fits a different kind of profile. The device was fairly sophisticated.” Pointing to the suspect’s picture, Agent Bennett said, “He’s not associated with any groups.”
“It’s scary to think there may be others…”
“No, he’s a loner type,” Agent Bennett said. “We’re sure he acted alone. So you don’t have to worry anymore.”
* * * * *
“Wake up! I have a surprise for you,” Sage said to Ramion lying on the couch.
Ramion stretched out his arms. “I must have dozed off. I hope it’s more interesting than this case,” he said, shuffling the legal papers from the floor to the table.
“Trust me,” Sage said, with the proud smile of a child excitedly showing her mother a straight-A report card.
She inserted the tape into the VCR and turned up the volume on the television. Ramion appeared on the screen, shaking hands with the kids at a high school. The two-minute commercial ended with the voice of a sports announcer saying, “A man who was born here rises to lead here.”
“I told them to edit some of the scenes a bit,” Sage said, pressing the Rewind button on the VCR remote. She stopped the rewind action and froze the screen. “They’re going to splice in a scene of you at the office here and rearrange some of the shots a bit.” She pressed Play and said, “But it’s mostly finished.”
“Baby, I love it,” Ramion said excitedly. “I didn’t think it was going to be ready until after we got back from our honeymoon.”
Sage plopped down on the sofa. “That was the plan. But I decided not to wait until then. I wanted to make sure everything was done before we left, so we can enjoy ourselves. And now that Edwinna has officially thrown her hat into the ring, we have to stay one step ahead of her.”
“Her news conference was a sideshow,” Ramion said, referring to Edwinna’s press conference, which was as orchestrated as a presidential campaign. He put his arms around her shoulders, grazing her neck with soft kisses. “With you in my corner, I know I’m going to win.”
She reached into the box on the floor and pulled out a brochure with Ramion’s picture on it. “These brochures are all ready and the ‘Vote for Ramion Sandidge’ stickers are done. I already put one on my car, and you know how I hate stickers and stuff cluttering my windows.” She patted his nose with her finger. “Only for you.”
“Thank you, baby. For all you’ve done on my campaign. And for just being you.” Ramion caressed her lips, slowly moving his tongue inside her mouth.
“Ramion,” she said, “Remember, we’re not…”
Sage fell back against the arm of the sofa, his kisses warming her body.
When Ramion’s hands snaked inside her blouse, she blurted, “No sex until our wedding night.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Ramion said, moving off the sofa.
Sage narrowed her eyes. “Sure you forgot.”
* * * * *
The governor of Georgia offered his deputy chief of staff his bowed arm. His eyes were filled with paternal pride because she held a special place in his heart reserved for family members. He smiled at Sage. “Are you ready?”
Sage closed her eyes for a moment, calming her emotions before responding with a simple nod. She was a vision of a fairy-tale fantasy, dressed in a beautiful silk, satin and Alençon lace off-the-shoulder wedding gown. Hand-embroidered palm leaves embossed with iris flowers made of nacré and mother-of-pearl dotted the sheath gown adorned by a long, cathedral-length train. A heart-shaped diamond pendant hung around her neck. Ramion had declared his love to Sage when he gave her the pendant after they had reclaimed their love from Edwinna’s machinations.
The pianist announced the bride’s presence with the first chords of “The Wedding March”. Three hundred people stood as Cameron escorted Sage down the aisle of hand-draped gold lamé peppered with thousands of flowers—white and red roses, white Queen Anne’s lace, pompons, carnations and snapdragons.
Her eyes shining as bright as a shooting star, Sage slowly eased down the aisle, step by step, closer and closer to the wedding party. Sage felt the eyes of family, friends and relatives watch her every move, but she only had eyes for Ramion, who was about to become her husband.
The wedding party watched as Sage approached them, their numbers resembling a group of Christmas carollers—five bridesmaids, five groomsmen, five ushers, five hostesses, a flower girl, a bell ringer and a ring bearer. The bridesmaids were dressed in strapless teal gowns, the hostesses in purple ones, the men in white tuxedos, and the children wore miniature versions of the adults’ attire.
Ramion nervously watched Sage and Cameron move toward him, seemingly in slow motion. As Sage neared the altar, Ramion took a few steps forward and reached out, as if magnetically drawn to his bride. Sage felt the pull of his attraction when he touched her hand.
The Reverend DuBois performed the ceremony in his typical enigmatic and eloquent style. He spoke about the sanctity of marriage and the commitment of love, quoting the meaning of love from Scriptures in the Bible and reciting from sonnets and poems about the beauty of love. The ceremony included a tapestry of songs about everlasting love, weaving a magical feeling that escaped no one who witnessed the wedding.
Sage and Ramion repeated the vows they had chosen to represent their eternal love.
“I, Sage Kennedy, tak
e you, Ramion Sandidge, to be my beloved husband, to give you, from this day forward, the gift of my tender love. To honor you with my body, to fill up the wounds in your heart. To sleep in your bed and stand at your side in good times and bad. When things go easy with us and when they are difficult.
“I give you my love, I give you my heart, I give you my hope. I give you my love for the rest of the days of my life. I promise to delight in your body, to nourish your mind; to be at home with your spirit the way a star is at home in the sky, to celebrate your whole being with joy as the sun emblazons the sky with its light, to know you, love you, hold you, warm you, through all the days of our lives.”
With the exchange of vows and rings, Reverend DuBois pronounced them husband and wife. “You may now kiss your bride.”
Ramion raised the tulle veil covering Sage’s luminous face and pressed his lips against hers. Aware of the crowd watching them, Sage hadn’t planned on a between-the-sheets kind of kiss. But she was overwhelmed by the moment—the vows they exchanged, the way his eyes caressed her soul, the way her heart felt enveloped by his love. She could not hold back her feelings and kissed him with the velocity of her love. It was a long, deep, soul-stirring kiss.
It was a kiss that marked their new beginning, a kiss that transformed them into husband and wife.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sage tensed as she felt the airplane descend from the clouds. She peered out the window, the rooftops and trees looming larger and larger as the plane neared the ground. She tightened her seat belt when the plane abruptly hit the ground, bouncing up and down a few times before the Boeing 747 hit the ground with the force of its massive tonnage. She heard the tires thump hard against the concrete, the brakes squeal and the wings opening out against the wind. She closed her eyes and held on to the seat, waiting for the plane to come to a complete stop.
“That pilot needs lessons in landing,” Sage complained to Ramion, who looked at her with a bemused expression.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Ramion said. “I’ve been in planes that seemed to be trying to land without brakes.”
“I’m just glad to be on the ground. All that bouncing up and down like a seesaw. I didn’t get seasick on the ship, but I feel pretty sick now.”
