“I couldn’t get any sleep with her constant whining, so I did the next best thing and put her in bed with me.”
“When are you moving out?”
“I hope before the end of next month.”
Rodney had found a co-op in East Harlem highrise overlooking the East River with views of the bridges connecting Manhattan with Queens and Brooklyn. He was waiting to close on his current apartment to finalize the sale of the Harlem property.
“There’s someone here I want you to meet.”
Rodney halted in the act of bringing his glass of beer to his mouth. “Who?”
“See the young woman with the black skirt and black-and-white striped top?” He nodded. “She’s going to be your dining partner tonight.”
“What’s her name?”
“Maribel Vargas. She’s a graduate student at Fordham’s School of Social Work. She’s interning at Ava’s agency. I’ll introduce you to her.”
Kyle and Ava had arrived before their guests, giving Tamara and Duncan an overview on who was who and their relationship to the engaged couple.
Rodney took a sip of beer, staring intently at the social worker’s legs, ending in a pair of stilettos. Without warning she turned, and he caught a glimpse of the face that went with the curvy compact body; he liked what he saw—a profusion of curly black hair, delicate features in an olive-brown face and a pair of large hazel eyes that sparkled like semiprecious jewels.
“You don’t have to do the introductions. I think I can handle this on my own.”
“Go, playa,” Tamara said softly.
She watched as Rodney walked over to Maribel, leaned over to whisper something to her, and then extended his free hand. The look on the woman’s face spoke volumes. She shook his hand, smiling demurely. Resting a hand in the small of her back, Rodney led her over to a chair, seated her and then sat beside her.
“What are you smiling about?” asked a familiar voice.
“Look at my roommate and Ava’s intern.”
Duncan stared at the man leaning in to hear what the pretty social worker was saying. “Maybe he’ll propose marriage and move the hell out of your place.”
“Stop it, Duncan! I told you there’s nothing going on between me and Rodney.”
“He looks a little too slick to be a doctor.”
“How are doctors supposed to look?”
Duncan kissed the nape of her neck. Tamara had brushed her hair off her face and secured it in an elastic band. “The ones I know look like straight-up nerds and that goes for the men and the women.”
“I’ve never been mistaken for a nerd,” Tamara countered.
“There’s nothing even remotely nerdy about you, Dr. Wolcott.” He rested a hand on her hip. “Everything about you is sexy.”
“You’d better stop feeling me up before someone sees us.”
“And what are they going to say?” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll turn off the music and the lights and herd them all the hell out of here.”
“There’s no need to go mad-hard,” she chided, smiling.
Duncan moved closer, close enough for her to feel his stirring sex. “Keep talking and something will get mad-hard.”
Tamara was saved from replying to his ribald comment when Tessa came over to tell her that her cousin was parked downstairs and wanted someone to come down and bring up dessert. Faith McMillan continued to bake cakes despite her advancing pregnancy, but had curtailed the number of cakes she usually baked for her demanding clients.
“I’ll go down,” Duncan volunteered.
“Take Micah with you,” Tessa said to his back.
* * *
The noise in the duplex decreased appreciably when everyone sat down to eat. Ava and Kyle’s immediate family and closest friends occupied the dining-room table while coworkers and the employees and their spouses and partners who worked in the Harlem brownstone housing the law, accounting and counseling firms sat at the round tables, becoming better acquainted with one another.
The chef had outdone himself with slices of succulent prime rib, fall-off-the-bone baked chicken and grilled salmon. The waiters were on hand to refill water and wineglasses. The five-course dinner was followed by an assortment of pastries that were the perfect complement for gourmet coffees and teas.
Duncan stood up and tapped his glass with the edge of his knife to get everyone’s attention. All eyes were trained on him. “As best man for the groom of the couple we’re honoring tonight, I’d like to thank everyone for coming out in this weather. I’m going to make this very short when I say…”
“Cut the bull—”
“Careful, Campbell,” Kyle warned softly. “There are parents here.”
Ivan extended his glass to Kyle’s parents, then Ava’s. “Sorry about that.”
Frances Chatham narrowed her eyes at Ivan. “I can’t believe you’re still a cusser, Ivan Campbell, after all the times your mother washed out your mouth with soap.”
Ivan dropped his head. “You’re not supposed to mention that, Mrs. Chatham.”
Everyone had a laugh at Ivan’s expense, while his date leaned over and kissed his forehead, eliciting more laughter.
“As I was saying before the cusser interrupted me,” Duncan continued, trying not to laugh, “Kyle and Ava, I know when I told you I wanted to host a little something to bring your friends and coworkers together you said you didn’t want anyone to bring a gift. Of course we didn’t listen. However, we managed to find out the names of your favorite charities, which incredibly happen to be the same.” Reaching for an envelope beside his plate, he handed it to Kyle. “There’s a bank check in that envelope made out to the United Negro College Fund. The donors are listed as Kyle and Ava Chatham. So you better get married, or the names on the check will constitute a fraud, counselor.”
Kyle opened the envelope, his eyes widening in surprise. Rising to his feet, he leaned over and hugged Duncan. “Thanks, brother.”
Duncan thumped his back. “You’re welcome, brother.”
Kyle showed Ava the check, then kissed her passionately. Ava passed the check around the table as the tempo of the prerecorded music picked up. The celebrating didn’t end with dinner, but went on for several more hours.
It was close to midnight when all of the food was put away, the rented tables and chairs were gone and the dishwashers in the main kitchen and the second kitchen hummed as they went through the wash and rinse cycles.
Tamara took a shower and crawled into bed, falling asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. The only thing she remembered was telling Rodney, as he was leaving with Maribel, to look in on Duchess.
The rain had stopped and the sun was high in the sky when she woke Sunday morning. It was the last day of her vacation and sharing dinner with Duncan’s aunt would signal the end of her social season.
She never thought she’d admit it, but she looked forward to returning to the orderly chaos in the E.R.
CHAPTER 14
Tamara felt an instant affinity for Viola Gilmore when the older woman ignored her hand to kiss her cheek. And the love Duncan professed for his aunt was apparent whenever he looked at her.
Viola might not have given birth to Duncan, but the resemblance between them was remarkable, which indicated that Melanie Gilmore had been a beautiful woman.
Duncan, who’d rented a car for the day, convinced Viola not to cook because he was taking her to her favorite restaurant, the River Café, which overlooked the East River and the Brooklyn Bridge. Music and the sound of raised voices drifted up from the outdoor deck below the restaurant’s dining room.
Tamara ate sparingly because she’d eaten so much the night before. When she’d put on her slacks she’d had to suck in her belly. So much for having a second helping of tiramisu and petit fours. She could maintain her weight if she skipped dessert. Like an addict, she couldn’t just eat one, but tended to binge. Again, she reminded herself that going back to work was a good thing.
Duncan drove them back to
his aunt’s brownstone for coffee and dessert. Tamara accepted the coffee, but passed on the dessert. She sat in Viola’s parlor, listening as the schoolteacher told stories, going back more than forty years, of her wonderful career as an educator. Duncan had excused himself to go over to Micah’s house to discuss Kyle’s February wedding. Kyle had selected Micah and Ivan as his groomsmen.
“More coffee, Tamara?”
“No, thank you, Ms. Gilmore.”
Viola waved a hand. “Please call me Viola. Only if I don’t like people do I insist they call me Ms. Gilmore.”
“What if I call you Miss Viola?” She’d been raised never to address older people by their given name.
“I would prefer Aunt Viola.”
Tamara smiled at the petite, elegantly dressed woman—she had paired a gray wool gabardine pantsuit with a white silk shell. “Then I will call you Aunt Viola.”
Viola decided she liked Tamara Wolcott better than she had her nephew’s late fiancée. Although Kalinda Douglas had died tragically, Viola didn’t mourn the young woman’s passing as much as she mourned for her nephew. His grief, which to her was akin to guilt, lingered far beyond a normal time for mourning the death of a loved one.
“You’re the first woman Duncan has brought around since his fiancée died.”
Tamara closed her eyes for several seconds in an attempt to process what she’d just heard. She hadn’t known Duncan had been engaged to be married. “How…how did she die?”
Viola shook her head. “She was one of thousands who died on 9/11.”
“Oh, please, no.”
She felt her heart stop, then start up again with a beating that hurt her chest. The horror of that day was imprinted on her brain. She’d just walked into her pathology class when the first plane had hit. A voice over the PA system had said that classes were cancelled for the day, but Tamara didn’t know what had happened until another student, who’d been listening to the radio, announced that the country was under attack.
Edward had switched gears from teacher to practitioner when the call went out for medical personnel to treat the dying and injured. Her husband had returned after a four-day absence a changed man. He rarely spoke and when he did he was monosyllabic. His bizarre behavior had continued until Tamara suggested he seek counseling.
Viola exhaled a breath. “Duncan took her death very hard. They were to be married that weekend. I think what exacerbated his grief was it took weeks to find her body—or what was left of her. What I found so strange was that he wouldn’t cry at her memorial service. He sat motionless, staring into space, refusing to talk.”
“Did he ever go for counseling?”
“He wouldn’t for years even though Ivan Campbell made himself available to Duncan at any time or any day, but my nephew refused. He kept blaming himself as a boy for his mother’s death, and something must have happened between him and Kalinda, because he hinted to me that he wanted to call off the wedding. But a week before 9/11 he changed his mind. Kalinda’s parents were beside themselves because they’d paid thousands to hold the reception at the Hudson Terrace.”
Covering her mouth with her hand, Tamara feigned coughing. It was no wonder Duncan was so subdued at her father’s birthday celebration. No doubt he was reliving the time when he and his fiancée were given a tour of the venue as they planned what was to become one of the happiest days of their lives.
“Did he see other women after his fiancée died?” She wanted and needed to know if there had been other women in Duncan’s life after Kalinda and before her.
“It was some time before he’d admit to me that he was going out with a woman. When I suggested he call a young teacher at my school because she’d expressed an interest in him, he said he would consider it if she was like his Kali. If not, then forget it.”
For the second time within a matter of minutes Tamara felt a stabbing sensation around her heart. Unknowingly she’d become a replacement for a dead woman. The only thing worse would be if she and his Kali looked alike. Forcing a cold smile that didn’t reach her eyes, she reached for her coffee cup and took a sip of lukewarm brew.
“Let me freshen up your coffee. It’s been sitting there so long that it must be cold,” Viola offered.
“No, please. It’s okay. Duncan told me that this school year will be your last,” she said, smoothly changing the topic of conversation.
Viola flashed a wide grin. “Yes, it is.”
The two women were still talking when Duncan returned. He lingered long enough to drink a cup of coffee then kissed his aunt, promising to see her before the end of the month.
* * *
Duncan stopped for a red light and glanced over at his passenger. “Why so quiet, baby?”
“I don’t feel like talking.”
A slight frown appeared between his eyes. “Did my aunt say something to upset you?”
Shifting on her seat, Tamara glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged, Duncan?”
The light changed and he took off. “It had nothing to do with you.”
“Oh, really,” she sneered sarcastically. “I spill my guts about the men in my life and you tell me a woman whom you loved enough to propose marriage to has nothing to do with me. Well, let me tell you this, Duncan Gilmore. I’m not into substitutes.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Tamara clamped down her temper. “Stop the car, Duncan, and pull over.” He kept driving. “I said stop this damn car and pull over—now!”
Glancing up at the rearview mirror, Duncan signaled and maneuvered over to the curb. Before he had a chance to react, Tamara had unsnapped her belt, opened the door and was standing on the curb hailing a taxi.
He pushed a button, lowering the passenger’s-side window. “Get back in the car, Tamara.”
Not bothering to look at him, Tamara walked down the street, her hand held aloft. A streak of yellow skidded to a stop, and she got in and gave the taxi driver her address. Reaching into her tote, she turned off her cell.
It had nothing to do with you.
If it had nothing to do with her then she would have nothing to do with Duncan Gilmore. The man who’d professed to love her, who wanted her to move in with him was reluctant to talk about his past. Duncan Gilmore was no different than Edward Bennett.
She hadn’t known that Edward had had two ex-wives until she sat across the table in her lawyer’s office.
And she hadn’t known that Duncan had planned to marry another woman until his aunt told her. There was a good reason why she’d hadn’t dated or slept with a man in four years. She couldn’t trust them.
Tamara paid the cabbie and went upstairs to her apartment. She opened the door and was met by her whining, wiggling canine companion. “What are you doing out of your crate? Did Uncle Rodney let that girl out?”
Rodney strolled into the entryway. “I leave the crate unlatched, and she goes back in when she wants to use the wee-wee pad. I think it’s time you snap the pads into the frame and put it where she can find it whenever she has to do her business. Every time I have to bend down to clean the crate I run the risk of throwing out my back.”
“I’ll start tomorrow because I’ll be home during the day to monitor her.” Duchess, now sleeping throughout the night went on her hind legs for Rodney to pick her up. “Sorry, girl, but Uncle Rodney has to leave for work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Retrieving his knapsack from a hook in the entryway closet, he slung it over his shoulder. “I want to thank you, Wolcott.”
“For what, Fox?”
He winked at her. “For introducing me to Maribel.”
Tamara returned the wink. “I take it you like her.”
“She’s nice, very cute and very, very smart. And more importantly she’s not into drama.”
“Good for you.”
Rodney nodded. “You and Duncan are an awesome couple. I wish you guys the best.”
There is no best, she mused, closing the door behind his departing figure. Even Dr
. Rodney Fox, whose love life mirrored a Spanish-language soap opera, had tired of the drama and moved on. Why, Tamara thought, couldn’t she?
The distinctive ring of her telephone startled Tamara. Glancing at the display of the handset on the table, she recognized Duncan’s number. Bending slightly, she picked up Duchess and made her way to her bedroom.
She fell across the bed, her puppy snuggling against her ribs, and went to sleep.
* * *
Duncan waited three days before he sought out Ivan Campbell. He was still in a quandary as to his relationship with Tamara. He’d called and left voice-mail messages on her cell and her home phone. She hadn’t called him back. Knocking lightly on the open door, he waited for Ivan to look up and acknowledge him. A slow smile deepened the grooves in the psychoanalyst’s lean face.
“Come in, DG.”
Duncan walked into the opulently appointed office that reminded him of a living room. Leather sofa, chairs and chaise, table lamps and area rugs created a homey look. Whenever Ivan was in session, he always closed his door and turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the lamps lit to create a soft, calming effect.
Of the three friends, Ivan was the least formal. Most times he came to work wearing a shortsleeved shirt sans tie, slacks and occasionally a jacket. However, he did keep a supply of shirts, ties, suits and underwear in a closet for times when he had speaking engagements. He claimed “dressing down” made his patients feel comfortable enough to open up about their problems.
Ivan gave Duncan a look he usually reserved for his patients. “What’s wrong, DG?”
“We need to talk.”
Rising, Ivan walked over and closed the door. “Let’s sit over there.” He pointed to two facing chairs.
Duncan told Ivan everything—leaving nothing out about his relationship with Kalinda Douglas and Dr. Tamara Wolcott. “I can’t lose her, Ivan. I refuse to give her up without a fight.”
Ivan had known Duncan thirty-two years, yet the man sitting in his office was one he didn’t recognize. Although he’d made himself available to his friends, professionally he found it difficult to be objective. He knew too much about them.
Man of Fortune Page 19
