“I’ll be there. In the meantime, see if you can’t find something to do other than push me on Denise.”
“I haven’t been doing that. Man, you zeroed in on that woman like an eagle going after prey.”
“Okay, but tell Pamela to invite her. I’m not quite ready to make a statement.”
“Gotcha.”
Sitting in the middle of her bed in one of Chicago’s five-star hotels, Denise flipped on the television and sipped green tea. It was too early for dinner, so to soothe her empty stomach, she’d made the tea in the pot that the hotel provided.
“What the…” What on earth? It couldn’t be. But there was Scott Galloway on the program Today’s Issues. Why was he on that program, and why was he discussing immigration? It was an issue in which she and other members of Second Chance had an active interest and one in which they worked on behalf of immigrant children. At the end of the program, she applauded.
“Honey, you are one smooth brother,” she said aloud, “and I liked what you had to say.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself. That articulate, accomplished, gorgeous man cared for her and wanted her. Suddenly, she swung her feet off the bed, walked to the window, then back to the bed, and to the window again. What was this? They’d spent the weekend together in a lovers’ tryst, and he hadn’t mentioned a television interview. She stomped her foot, her temperature rising.
When she opened her cell phone to call and chew him out, she saw that she had four unanswered calls and decided to retrieve them. To her chagrin, each had come from Scott and said that he wanted to talk to her. On the last voice-mail message, minutes earlier, his voice had a plaintive quality. She hadn’t heard the phone ring because it was in her handbag on the sofa in the living room of her suite.
“Moral of the story, kiddo,” she said to herself, “is that you shouldn’t jump to conclusions until you have all the facts. I should be ashamed of myself, and I am.”
She dialed his number and waited, praying that he’d tell her what she wanted to hear.
“Hi, Denise. Where on earth are you? Don’t you answer your phone? I’ve made half a dozen calls to you.”
“Honey, don’t you remember my telling you that I had to be in Chicago today? I took a nine-thirty flight out of Reagan. I just saw you on TV.”
“Good grief, I forgot about Chicago. I’ve been calling you for two reasons. My boss called me in first thing this morning and promoted me to division chief in charge of immigration, and sent out a press release as soon as I agreed to take the assignment. Then, in less than two hours, a guy from MSNBC was on my line asking if I’d appear on the program. I agreed, and spent the rest of the day cramming on the hot immigration topics.
“You can’t imagine what a downer it was to leave that studio feeling as if I’d done well and not being able to share it with you.”
“Congratulations on your new post. You were wonderful. Your responses couldn’t have been more perfect. You know what I said?”
“What?”
“I said, ‘that is one smooth brother.’ Honey, you looked, spoke and acted the part. I’m so proud of you. I mean, you made me feel wonderful.”
“I’m sure you told me when you’d be back here, but please refresh my memory.”
“I’ll be back late tomorrow afternoon. I’d make it earlier, but I have to meet with my board. We have some programs for children of immigrant families in various cities, and we don’t discriminate between legal and undocumented immigrants. They’re here, and they need help.”
“Really? We’d better get into that another time.”
“Don’t worry. We will. And don’t be so sure that I’ll be opposing you. I liked what you said on the program tonight.”
“Thanks. Let me know what time your plane gets in, and I’ll meet you. We can have dinner someplace.”
“Great idea. Be sure and check the messages on your cell phone. See you as soon as possible.”
“I’ll be waiting. Bye.”
She hung up, deep in thought. Maybe I should find Oscar Jefferson and let him see who I am and what I’ve become. I’d like to shake up the SOB and tell him what I think of him. Until I met Scott, I had no idea what it meant to be with a man. When he made love to me, he gave me something precious. She shook her head. But I can’t help wondering if something is still missing. Or is it my imagination that he seemed to be reaching for something else? Oh, Lord. Here we go again. Denise and her self-doubts.
She ate dinner in her room, watched the quarterfinals of a tennis match, said her prayers and went to bed. During the night, she struggled with dreams that she was carrying Scott Galloway’s child. She awoke in a sweat at five in the morning. In her dream, she awakened to discover that her child wasn’t Scott’s but was instead Oscar’s, and that Scott had walked out on her.
She crawled out of bed and took a shower. How had she gotten tied up in a knot about Oscar Jefferson, when so many years had passed? She vowed then to find him and talk with him. He was a stumbling block in her life, an impediment to her happiness. She plugged in her laptop and began her search for Oscar Jefferson. Two hours later, she had traced several leads but was at a dead end. Still, she was not discouraged. If he was alive, she’d find him.
At her board meeting that morning, she realized that she might have a problem. The members wanted her to make demands about federal immigration policy, and she knew Scott well enough to know that their demands would get them nowhere.
“Give him a chance to settle in,” she advised. “If we don’t like his policies, there’s time enough to bear down on him. From what he said last night, he could well be our ally.” She ended the meeting in a move she considered necessary, if she were to avoid getting jammed between a rock and a hard place.
She phoned Scott minutes after she reserved her flight home. “Good,” he said. “I’ll meet you in the baggage area. Stay sweet.”
“You, too.”
Scott saw Denise walking toward him and quickened his steps. What a woman! Heads turned as she passed, and he didn’t try to suppress his feelings of pride that he was the man she wanted. He opened his arms, and she dashed into them. Then, as if mindful that they were in a public place, she stepped back and grinned.
“You’re teaching me all kinds of new habits,” she said. “I’m glad to see you.”
“I’ve got some more for you,” he said as he took her briefcase and overnight bag, slung an arm around her and headed for the taxi stand. “I didn’t drive to the airport because parking is so difficult to come by.” He directed the taxi driver to a parking lot on I Street, in northwest Washington, where he’d left his car.
“Let’s eat somewhere nearby,” she suggested, “and then you won’t have to move the car until we’re ready to go home.”
“Good idea. It’s one of the reasons why I only date smart women.” He had to touch her, so he caressed the side of her face. She looked and acted like a woman of privilege, but she was very much down-to-earth. He’d give anything to know what was behind the mask, and eventually, he would.
They settled on a Chinese restaurant, and she ordered a shrimp-and-lobster dish with snow peas and bok choy. Scott ordered Szechuan pork, and they ate family style.
“Did this assignment surprise you?” she asked.
“Actually, it did. I knew there were three open slots in which I was a good fit. But all of them were a step below this one. The problem interests me, and I’m glad to take it on. But I’m sure I’ll be in the middle of some major policy conflicts and competing interests. This could be a career killer. I intend to listen for a while. Then I’ll close my ears to the do-gooders, know-it-alls, protesters and bigots and do what I believe is best for the country.”
“If you can find a way to get people to put aside their agendas, you will begin eradicating some of the problems. It won’t be easy.”
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. “I’m glad you’re with me in this, Denise. It’s important to me.”
“I
t’s important to me, too, Scott. I’m a fighter for what I believe in, and I’m glad I won’t have to work against you.”
He stared at her as if he didn’t believe her. “You’d do that?”
She laughed because, looking back, it seemed funny. “Do you remember how I behaved over environmental issues a few years ago?”
“Oh, yeah. I see what you mean.”
“Fortunately, it will never come to that, I don’t think.”
“I’m with you there. What are you doing this weekend?”
She examined her broken nail and made a mental note to see a manicurist the next day. “Pamela wants me to spend the weekend with them. It seems that Velma, Russ’s wife, will be thirty-five Saturday, and the family is poised for a celebratory weekend. I’ll get there Friday around six-thirty or seven.”
“Want to ride along with me?”
“I’d love it. Oh, Scott, they’ll all be looking at the both of us to figure out what’s been going on.”
He leaned back and smiled. “Who among them is paying your bills?”
“Right,” she said, nodding in agreement.
“Judson is the only one of them who has the nerve to ask me a direct question about it, and I have enough nerve to tell him to mind his own business. So I don’t see a problem. If you’re ashamed of being with me, we’d better rethink this relationship.”
She narrowed both eyes. “Don’t even think it.”
When they arrived at the Harrington estate in Eagle Park shortly after six-thirty that Friday, Scott was already wondering at the wisdom of their arriving together, although he didn’t let on to Denise. He drove her directly to Drake Harrington’s house, took her bag inside, greeted Drake and Pamela and went on to Judson’s house, roughly a quarter of a mile down the road.
Judson opened the door and slapped him on the back. “My hat’s off to you. Only a dedicated official would willingly take on immigration policy. It looks good on you, too. Never saw you looking better.”
“A dedicated public servant or a fool. I’m here to drink to celebrate Velma’s birthday, and I don’t want to think about Washington or immigration. There will be time for that when I get my first grilling from the Congress. Where’s Heather?”
“She took some stuff to Alexis for the party tomorrow. What’s with you and Denise? Is she coming?”
“She’s here. Pamela invited her. See you after I shave and shower. I came directly from work. I’m assuming you haven’t given my room to anyone.”
“Of course not. How’s Nana?”
“We had dinner together a few nights ago. She’s fine. See you later.”
Half an hour later he came downstairs wearing jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers. He made a vodka comet for himself and took it in the den, where he knew he’d find Judson and Heather winding down after their working day.
He sat across from them in a big, overstuffed leather chair and sipped his cocktail. “How do the two of you keep your relationship fresh when you’re together at work and at home? And what happens when you disagree professionally? Does that follow you home?”
“To begin with, we consult with each other, but we each have our own cases. And that’s important. We leave work where it belongs, and we don’t discuss anything about it in this house. We don’t bring work home. That means we can’t waste time during the working hours. If one of us has to work extra hours, we stay late at the office. We don’t bring it home,” Judson repeated.
“That rule has forced both of us to improve our work habits,” Heather said. “By the way, supper’s simple tonight. We’re just having broiled lobster tails, French fries, a salad and apple pie, with ice cream if you want to get fat.”
“Watch your tongue, lady,” Scott said. “I work out three times a week. Fat is out of the question. Warm apple pie and vanilla ice cream is an indulgence. And that is not a simple meal.”
“My thought exactly,” Judson said. They talked until after dinner. All the while, Scott’s mind dwelled on the fact that Denise was only a five-minute walk from him. Finally, when he could no longer resist the urge, he excused himself, went to his room and telephoned her.
“Hi, put on a sweater and meet me in front of Drake’s house. I don’t want to go inside, but I need to kiss you good-night.”
“Will do.”
He donned a jacket, loped down the stairs and bumped into Judson, who was on his way out of the den. “Sorry about that. I’m going for a short walk. I ought to be back in about half an hour or so.”
Judson grinned. “That’s all the time you need?”
“It’s all the time I’ll take,” he replied and left the house with Judson’s laughter ringing in his ears.
A nip in the air announced the coming of an early fall, and he zipped up his jacket. Striding along the road, he looked up at the sky and the moon, which seemed lonely in all its luminance, as it shone through the lofty tulip trees that flanked the side of the road.
“A man shouldn’t have to sleep alone on a night like this one,” he heard himself say. He didn’t want the feeling to get to him, so he quickened his pace and started whistling “A Change Is Gonna Come.” Reflecting on the lyrics, he told himself that whistling that song meant nothing. And maybe it didn’t.
She must have heard him, because he saw her when she immediately ran toward the road. “If I don’t watch it, I’ll fall in love with her,” he said to himself. He wanted to run, but his basic stubbornness wouldn’t let him. Fight it all you want to, a niggling voice said. You’ll have to do more than fight.
When he reached her, he picked her up, swung her around and then hugged her. “I got lonely, and you were only a quarter of a mile away.”
He bent his head, and with her arms raised and lips parted, she opened up to him the way a morning glory spreads its petals to the sun. He gripped her body and plunged into her, reveling in the passion she gave, sucking his tongue as if it were the essence of life. He needed to lay her down and get into her, wanted and needed the feeling of her exploding around him while he released the powerful sexual sediments that were building up in him at that very moment.
“Baby, you’re lethal,” he said, stepping back. “We’d better take a rain check on this.”
“Yes,” she said. “Before last weekend, making out didn’t bother me. But now that I know what comes next, I’m gonna have to watch it.”
“That’s not what you meant,” he said, as solemn as a priest. “You’re not going to make out with anybody but me. And if you want to make love, let me know. I can take a hint, and you bet I’ll find a way. I’ll walk with you to the door.”
As they reached the steps, she stopped and looked around. “It’s an awesome night, beautiful and…it seems so deserted. It isn’t a night to be alone,” she said.
He stared at her. “Those were my thoughts exactly as I walked along the road. I’ll see you tomorrow. What do you want to do before the party?”
“Nothing. What do you want to do?”
He lifted his shoulder in successive, quick shrugs.
“Nothing. Hadn’t thought much about it. We could go down to the river and fish.”
“Good. I’ll be ready at seven.”
“I’ll see if I can borrow Henry’s rods, reels and tackle. If it’s okay with him, I’ll be here at about seven. Kiss me, and no heavy stuff.”
She pressed a kiss to his lips, caressed his cheek, opened the door and went inside.
No sooner had she closed the door than mixed feelings cropped up again. “This isn’t working,” he said aloud as he strode toward Judson’s house. “I care for her, and I want her, but how the hell do you pry something out of a woman if she doesn’t want to tell you about it? Right in the middle of that kiss, as soon as she realized that she’d exposed her true feelings, she put up her guard. I know I won’t be satisfied with the part she wants me to have. I want the whole woman, warts and all, and I’m entitled to know what I’m getting.”
Fog and drizzle the next morning meant that he and Denis
e couldn’t go fishing. He phoned her. “Too bad,” she said. “Well, at least I can sleep another hour.”
He walked down to Harrington House and, as he’d hoped, Henry answered the door. “Good morning, Henry. You’re the man I want to see.”
“Well, yer lookin’ at me. Come on in and peel the fruit while I make the biscuits. You can make biscuits, can’t ya?”
“I’ve never tried. I was going to ask if I could borrow your fishing gear tomorrow morning so I can take Denise fishing. We wanted to fish this morning, but you see what the weather’s like.”
“Yer welcome to borrow me fishing gear, but there wasn’t no use going fishing this morning anyway, ’cause they ain’t biting.”
“How do you know that, Henry?”
Henry looked toward the ceiling as if having to suffer ignorance weighed heavily on him. “’Cause I been fishing sixty-five of me seventy-one years. It’s the first of the full moon, and they’re busy laying eggs. You want some coffee?”
“You bet I do. What do you want me to peel?”
“A couple of oranges. Tara’s going to gorge herself on it.” He shook his head from side to side, and a smile crawled over his face. “She’s the apple of me eye.”
“I know what you mean. If I can have just one child with her manners, intelligence and self-confidence by the time she’s eight—or is it nine?—I’ll thank God, her mother and everybody else who contributed to it.”
“Humph. You start by getting the right woman to be her mother. Tara had Alexis, all three of me boys and me. Her own daddy ain’t worth the saliva in his mouth. Tara took Tel for her daddy from the minute she saw him, and it’s the answer to me prayers that he was finally able to adopt her.”
Scott rested the knife on the table and stared at Henry. “You’re telling me that Tara’s birth father is alive, and that he gave Telford permission to adopt that beautiful little girl? What’s wrong with him?”
A Compromising Affair (The Harringtons) Page 12
