by Robin Allen
They heard the high-pitched, two-toned signal indicating that passengers could begin disembarking the plane.
“I guess our honeymoon is officially over,” Ramion said, kissing his bride on her orange-glossed lips that complemented her sun-kissed, golden-brown skin.
“What a blast!” Sage said, smiling at all the wonderful memories. “The sun, the water, the islands…”
“The sex,” Ramion said.
“The shopping, the delicious food…”
“The sex,” he repeated.
“Is that all you’re going to remember about our honeymoon?”
“No, I’ll remember how much money I lost gambling,” Ramion said, with a twinge of regret. “Every time I thought I was ahead, I ended up further in the hole.” He stood up and opened the overhead compartment.
“I warned you,” Sage lightly chided as she unstrapped her seat belt.
“Here’s your hat,” Ramion said, handing her a brown straw hat. He juggled two bags of duty-free liquor in his arms.
“I’ll grab the other bag,” Sage said, reaching into the overhead compartment and pulling down a brown-and-yellow Louis Vuitton garment bag.
Sage and Ramion filed off the plane, trailing behind the other passengers, and departed through the porthole into the terminal gate. Sage’s wallet fell from her handbag, and Ramion bent down to pick it up. He slipped the wallet back into her handbag just as they stepped inside the airport. Suddenly camera lights flashed in their faces and reporters shouted questions.
“Did you do it, Ramion?”
“Are the woman’s allegations true?”
“What do you have to say about your relationship?”
In the midst of the reporters, Sage saw Ava and Marika trying to make their way through the media crush. In the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Ramion’s dumbfounded expression when a reporter pointed a microphone at him. Tape recorders and video cameras were positioned to record his response. They captured a flustered, almost-angry look on Ramion’s face. His jaw was thrust forward pugnaciously, and his eyes were wide with astonishment.
Sage adroitly stepped into the camera’s view and said, “Mr. Sandidge has no comment at this time.”
Hearing Sage refer to him as Mr. Sandidge, Ramion recovered his composure, the expression of ambushed confusion metamorphosing into his more customary in-control demeanor. “Frankly, I have no idea what this is all about. If allegations have, in fact, been levied against me, I’ll confront the charges before I respond.” He cleared his throat. “I can only say I’ll make a statement within the next forty-eight hours.”
Ava pushed through the paparazzi to Sage’s side and whispered in her ear, “I tried to call you before you left the hotel, but you were gone. Then we tried the limo, but there was no way to reach you.”
“What is it?” Sage asked anxiously, though dreading Ava’s response at the same time.
“Selena Tucker, an intern that worked at Ramion’s old law firm, has filed sexual harassment charges against him.”
Sage’s eyes widened as she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no! This could cost him the election.”
“If he didn’t do it,” Ava said, shrugging, “then it shouldn’t make a difference.”
“It may not matter if he’s guilty or innocent. In politics, image is everything, and the election is only two months away,” Sage said, thinking about the potential damage to Ramion’s credibility and hoping it wouldn’t be irreparable.
The newlyweds made their way to the baggage terminal, fully aware that their every movement was being watched as reporters lurked around, searching for a new angle to the story. They collected their luggage, checking their bags with security before leaving the baggage terminal.
“Our bags aren’t going to fit,” Ramion said, when he saw Marika’s Ford Mustang parked in front of the airport. “Let’s get a limo,” he said, heading toward the Ground Transportation sign.
“I’ll go with them,” Ava said, trailing behind Ramion and Sage.
“Thanks for coming,” Sage called to Marika. “I’ll talk to you later.”
After Ramion secured a limo, they climbed inside while the driver put their luggage into the trunk.
“What the hell is going on?” Ramion asked when the driver pulled away from the airport.
“A former intern at your old law firm is suing you for sexual harassment,” Ava explained.
“What?” Ramion asked in an absurd tone of voice. He looked over at Sage, whose blissful expression had been transformed by shock and dismay. Ramion turned back to Ava. “Who made these ridiculous charges?”
“Selena Tucker,” Ava answered, handing Ramion the morning newspaper with a blaring headline, “Student Levies Sexual Harassment Charge Against Candidate Ramion Sandidge.”
Ramion scanned through the article, shaking his head in disbelief. His future was slipping away like the grains of sand sliding through an hourglass. He was scowling by the time he finished the article. He racked his brain, trying to recall what he could have done to provoke her fantastic claim of sexual harassment.
Sage watched Ramion’s reaction, studying his face, looking for a mirror of truth. She searched the subtle reflection in his eyes and the clenching of his jaw for a trace of guilt. But all she found was utter amazement and righteous anger.
“I don’t understand why she would lie. It’s absolutely not true,” Ramion said. “She wasn’t a great law clerk…”
“She failed the bar twice,” Ava said.
“She did?” Sage queried.
“I don’t know what this is about,” Ramion said. “But I’ll be damned if some lying, conniving law student is going to ruin my career!”
The driver parked in front of Ramion’s house, where they were going to live while their house was being built. They unloaded the luggage from the trunk, and Ramion paid the limo driver.
Sage hardly noticed the streamers and balloons decorating the door or the sign that read Welcome Home, Mr. and Mrs. Sandidge. She collapsed on the sofa and said, “Fill us in.”
Ava was reluctant to tell them about the past two days. She hated ruining their homecoming.
“Well?” Ramion urged.
“Selena’s lawyer, Cynthia Powers…”
“Not her,” Ramion groaned, fear tightening in his stomach like a vise. “She’s not a lawyer! She’s a publicity monger!”
Silently agreeing with Ramion, Sage said, “She’s also a well-known champion of women who are victimized by men. Palimony suits are her forte. If I remember correctly, she represented a woman suing a priest, claiming they had lived together in connubial bliss.”
“That’s her,” Ramion said. He motioned with his hands for Ava to continue.
“She called a press conference yesterday and announced that Selena Tucker had filed a civil suit against you, alleging that you sexually harassed her when she was a clerk at Williamson—you know, your old law firm. Selena claims your harassment adversely affected her ability to pass the bar.”
Ramion stood by the fireplace while listening to Ava. “She’s full of shit.”
“She fails her bar exam,” Sage said, “and she wants to blame Ramion?” She leaned back against the sofa and massaged her temples. She suddenly felt exhausted from the busy honeymoon and the unexpected, and very unwelcome, media greeting.
“Was she there?” Ramion asked, speculating that Cynthia would use every opportunity to portray her client as a victim. He wasn’t surprised when Ava nodded.
“She didn’t say a whole lot. She read a prepared statement, something about Ramion destroying her dream. She looked very polished and professional in a business suit.”
“And, of course, the public needed to know this right before the election,” Sage cynically said, then stood up. “I’m exhausted. Let’s talk about this in the morning and figure out what to do then. We have to hold a press conference by tomorrow evening. If we wait too long it will look like you’re guilty. Right now, I need some rest.”
“I’m sorry you had to come home to this,” Ava said, and hugged her sister. “Get some rest.”
“I’ll try,” Sage said, knowing she would probably do more thinking than sleeping.
After Ava left, Sage took a hot shower, the pulsating water soothing her frazzled nerves. She brushed her teeth and tucked her hair into a ponytail. She slipped into a green satin nightgown, remembering the last seven days in Ramion’s arms, when all she’d worn to bed were teddies and negligees or nothing at all. From passion to scandal, she thought, as she left the bathroom to enter their bedroom.
Ramion was sitting on the edge of the bed, going over the newspaper article again and again, his face a mask of worry. He reached for the glass on the nightstand and took a sip of bourbon on ice.
“This is crazy,” he said angrily. He thumped his hand against the newspaper. “Lies! Lies! Lies!”
Sage slipped under the covers and sat upright against the headboard. “What happened? Did you do anything that would…”
“Never! I was never out of line with her!” Ramion exploded. “I don’t know why she would lie like this. The real truth is that she flirted with me. She asked me out on several occasions.”
“Did you ever accept?”
Ramion shot Sage an exasperated glare. “We never even had lunch.”
“Can anyone confirm that she asked you out?”
Ramion stood up and tossed the newspaper article on the floor. “I don’t remember anybody ever being around. That was almost two years ago. She did some research for some of my cases. We worked late a couple of evenings. But I never so much as said ‘That’s a pretty dress’ or ‘You look nice’.”
“Were you attracted to her?”
“She’s a pretty lady, but I only thought of her in professional terms. From time to time, she made suggestive remarks. I always ignored them, and I think it frustrated her that I didn’t respond.” He shrugged. “She’s the type of woman that’s used to men fawning over her. I didn’t. Maybe that pissed her off.”
“But why now, in the middle of your campaign?”
“I don’t know, except we know who would benefit if I lose the election.”
“Edwinna,” Sage said, thinking she would do anything to hurt Ramion.
“But how could she talk Selena into doing this? Why would Selena lie and risk her career?”
“What career? She’s failed the bar twice.”
“She can take it again,” Ramion said. “Anyway, whatever the reason, we have to deal with it.”
“We’re going to have to issue a statement tomorrow, or voters will think there’s some truth in her lies,” Sage said. “You have to deny the charges and quickly remind voters about your campaign commitment.”
“I know. I know,” he said, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “The problem is the court docket. I have to figure a way to get this into court and exonerate myself before the election.”
“The election is only two months away. It could take you that long to get a court date.”
“Especially in civil court,” Ramion said in a defeated tone.
Sage leaned back against the pillow with a yawn. She closed her eyes for a moment, pondering the next two months.
“Get some sleep, Sage. I’m too wound up to go to bed right now.” Ramion walked around to the other side of the bed. He kissed his wife on the forehead, then on her lips.
“What an ending to our honeymoon,” she said, burrowing under the covers.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Ramion said, holding her hand. “You do believe me, don’t you? I absolutely did not harass that woman.”
Grasping his hand tighter, she said firmly, “I believe you. I’m behind you one hundred percent.”
* * * * *
Sage turned into a strip shopping mall that included a nail salon along with seven other small businesses. She parked in front of the salon and got out of her car. She saw a sign, Closed. Family Emergency, posted on the door and peered through the window at the empty room.
Returning to her car, Sage started the engine and headed toward the end of the shopping center. She stopped at the cleaner’s drive-through window, picked up her suits and dresses, and dropped off another bag of clothes to be dry-cleaned. She turned onto Roswell Road, stopping for a red light.
While waiting for the light to turn green, she spotted another nail salon in the shopping center across the street. She quickly changed lanes and steered her car into the recently built shopping center. She parked near the salon, then picked up the telephone to call Ramion. There was no answer, so she left a voice message telling him she wouldn’t be home until after seven.
She passed a drugstore and a pet shop as she made her way to the NuYou Salon. She opened the door and was immediately greeted by a pretty chestnut-brown girl whose Asian-and-black mixture showed in her slanted eyes and black hair.
“I don’t have an appointment,” Sage said, “but I’d like to get my nails done. Can someone take me right away?”
“Acrylic or gel?” the girl asked.
“Acrylic. Just a fill-in,” Sage said.
The receptionist picked up the phone, pressed an intercom button and spoke in Vietnamese. She hung up and directed Sage to the counter containing bottles of nail polish. “Pick out a color. Someone will be with you shortly.”
Sage scanned the shelves stocked with nail-polish bottles in shades from pink to maroon and orange to red. She glanced around the salon, appreciatively noticing the private booths instead of the typical long table of manicurists lined against a mirrored wall. Several black contemporary paintings caught her attention as she sat down in the waiting room.
“Ready?” a petite, pregnant Vietnamese woman asked.
Sage nodded.
“Come with me,” the woman said.
Sage followed the woman into a small booth that reminded her of an office cubicle. Sage placed her hands flat on the table and spread her fingers apart.
“How are you?” the woman asked, dipping a cotton ball into a bowl of nail-polish remover.
“Fine,” Sage responded, watching the woman remove her bright-red nail polish.
“Song be with you in a minute,” the woman said after removing the polish on Sage’s nails. “I go now.”
Within seconds, an attractive, middle-aged Vietnamese woman with an ear-length bob and strong facial features entered the booth. “Hello,” she said, greeting Sage with a friendly smile. “I am Song.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sage said.
Song stared at Sage for a long, uncomfortable minute, gazing into her eyes with a curious expression. “You have pretty eyes,” the woman said suddenly, then sat down opposite Sage.
The woman named Song said very little at first as she examined Sage’s nails, then proceeded to apply the acrylic—dipping a thin brush into a white powder and smoothing it on Sage’s nails. When Song started buffing and filing her nails, she began telling Sage about her recent move from California and her plans to make the salon a big success.
After applying a topcoat over the dark-red polish, Song directed Sage into the drying room. Sage placed her hands under an electric hand dryer. She looked across the room and saw a picture hanging on the wall that reminded her of the painting she had bought from Tawny.
As she stared at the painting, its bright-red and yellow hues swirling into a sea of purple and green, she had an inexplicable feeling, a sense of dèjá vu, but she had never been in the salon before. She couldn’t take her eyes off the painting, couldn’t stop staring into the mysterious faces in the painting—faces that weren’t faces at all, only eyes.
“I think I’m dry,” Sage said, removing her hands from under the electric hand dryer.
“Let me spray you,” Song said, shaking the tall can of Instant Dry and then spraying it over Sage’s nails. “I hope you come again.” Song fished in her pocket for a card and handed it to Sage. “Next time you come, you get twenty percent off our services. We do manicures and pedicures. We do facials too. Would you be interest
ed?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Please sign our guest list. We call you to schedule your next appointment.”
* * * * *
When the elevator doors opened on the first floor of the Fulton County Courthouse, Sage and Ramion were greeted by the media, ready to report the outcome of Ramion’s request for a preliminary hearing.
Ramion smiled confidently into the cameras, not betraying the tangle of feelings he had just experienced: uncertainty about the case law supporting his argument, fear that the judge would automatically dismiss his request and relief when the judge had ruled in his favor.
This time, when the media pounced on Ramion like a panther after his prey, he roared back.
“Judge Brackett granted my request for a preliminary hearing to investigate the charges made by Miss Selena Tucker,” Ramion told the print and broadcast journalists. “He’ll hear the case in two weeks and determine then whether there’s enough evidence to warrant further investigation.”
“So you’re hoping to clear your name before the election?”
“Absolutely. I’d like to remind voters that I’m running for the State House because I want to improve the communities on the south side. Economic prosperity isn’t just for the folks who live north of the perimeter. Environmental consciousness is not a black or white issue; it’s a human issue that affects us all…”
Ramion’s interview was cut short when his accuser, Selena Tucker, and her lawyer, Cynthia Powers, emerged from the elevator, their heels clicking against the polished linoleum floor. The reporters and cameramen directed their microphones and camcorders on the two women.
“Selena, how do you feel about today’s ruling?” a reporter asked.
Selena opened her mouth, but Cynthia stepped forward, her stern eyes communicating an order to remain quiet. The usually cool and composed Cynthia Powers was as angry as a fire-breathing dragon. “I’m appalled that the justice system can be so easily circumvented to accommodate the whims and fancies of a privileged insider. It appears that my client will not be given due process, but rushed process…”
Ramion and Sage walked away, their adversary’s ramblings fading into the distance.
