Rapture

by Sonia Icilyn

  “I’m not in the mood for any of your jibes,” Antonio taunted.

  “In that case, I’ll be brief,” Avril said, knowing exactly how to handle her brother. Any self-pity was always best dealt with by a series of questions. “Did you see Elonwy?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Antonio snapped.

  “What do I tell Mom?” she asked.

  “Tell her…tell her that—” Suddenly, Antonio’s voice rose. It became shriller, angrier. Every fourth word was an obscenity. Avril jumped from the edge of his bed. What had set off such a tornado of invective, she couldn’t imagine, but her brother looked like a crazy man. “This is what you meant when you said my pantomime was just around the corner, isn’t it?” he challenged.

  “Tony!” she yelled. He leapt from his bed and she was surprised to find him not dressed. Only his pyjama pants covered him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t think it’s mine,” he lamented in disbelief.

  “What isn’t?” Avril asked.

  “The baby,” Antonio spat out.

  The news refused to filter. “Don’t be silly,” Avril cajoled. “Of course it’s yours.”

  “You’re not listening,” Antonio quipped. “Elonwy’s hiding something and… I nearly hit her again.”

  “Again…I don’t understand,” Avril gulped. “You never said…” Her eyes schooled him carefully. “Why did you hit her the first time?”

  “Because…I thought she was having an affair,” Antonio almost screamed. “She said she wasn’t, but then she left me.” He pointed his finger, accusatory. “And you took her side.”

  “There’s two sides to every story, are there not?” Avril reasoned, shocked at what she was hearing. “Did Elonwy tell you who the father is?”

  “No,” Antonio relented.

  “Then maybe she’s just trying to rile you,” Avril suspected. “You did falsely accuse her and no woman wants to be hit for doing something she didn’t do.”

  “You think?” Antonio asked, taking her seriously.

  “I’ll go and talk to her,” Avril promised. “Don’t worry, I’ll find out exactly what’s going on and let you know.”

  “I want to know the baby’s name,” Antonio insisted.

  Avril was appalled. “She didn’t tell you?”

  “No,” Antonio seethed, “Like I said, it’s like she’s hiding something.”

  “But she must’ve registered the baby’s name by now, surely?” Avril contradicted. “That’s the law.”

  “Which is probably why she’s seeing a lawyer,” her brother disclosed.

  “A lawyer!” Avril exclaimed, confused. “Is she planning on divorce?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Antonio countered harshly. “All I know is that she told me that I have to go through her firm of solicitors and gave me a number. My guess is that she wants a DNA test. My bitch of a wife probably doesn’t even know who the father is, so if she wants a sample, I’ll happily provide one.”

  “I’ll talk to her at the end of the week,” Avril vowed.

  “Why can’t you do it now?” Antonio insisted. “You know where she is.”

  Avril glanced at her watch. “It’s nearly nine o’clock,” she said. “And I’m working tomorrow morning. You are, too.”

  “No, I’m not,” Antonio returned. “I know you and your fancy lawyer thought that the Armstrongs had reinstated me, but they haven’t. I still haven’t been given my job back.”

  “I didn’t know,” Avril breathed, completely astonished. “Dale didn’t say anything to me.”

  “Dale!” Antonio noted the way she said his name. “Since when have you been on first name terms?”

  Avril chose to tell him the truth. “We’re dating.”

  “You’re bedding your lawyer?” he said crudely. “Why doesn’t that surprise me.”

  “Don’t,” Avril argued. “I know what you think of me and my former model lifestyle, but your disruptive life, my mother divorcing both our fathers and the breakdown of your marriage didn’t help. I sought out relationships that failed because I was looking at the wrong men. Now, I’m older and wiser, okay.”

  “Then perhaps you can tell your new lover that I’m also waiting to be paid my monthly salary from the Armstrongs,” Antonio relished. “It’s dirty-tactics, out-and-out sabotage with them. My guess is Maxwell’s behind it.”

  “Be rational,” Avril said. “Why would he target you?”

  “Well, it isn’t Georgie,” Antonio told her. “I’ve never seen a chink in that incredible armor of his that anyone put there. If Georgie was launching a war, believe me, I’d know about it. Unless of course, this has something to do with you. Are you intending to use Dale Lambert to hitch Ricky Armstrong?”

  “You know something, Tony,” Avril objected, offended. “You’re a jerk and Elonwy knows it. I’ll talk to her as soon as I can, not for your sake, but for our mother. As much as I hate the choices our mother made in her life, I love her and I want her to know whether she has a grandson.”

  Antonio conceded and reseated himself on his bed. “What’s this new job?”

  “What do you care?” Avril shot at him.

  “I’m…interested,” Antonio said a little shamefaced.

  “I’m overseeing one of Reuben Meyer’s projects,” Avril explained, “in my capacity as Miss African-Caribbean. He wants me to talk with the tenants of his new apartment building and let him know their concerns. I’m to pass on what I find to him.”

  “What…you’re a spy?” Antonio mocked.

  Avril gasped. “It’s…liaison work.” She glanced at her watch again. “I can see you’re still in a foul mood, so I’m going.” Avril made for the door and looked back at her brother. He’d hopped back into his bed and covered the sheets around him. Anxiety ripped through her body. Just what was her family to do with him in this state? “I’ll also talk to Dale about your job and,” she hesitated. “Your pantomime. I was referring to a time when you and Elonwy would sort out your differences. I never imagined it would be like this and hope you both come to a compromise.”

  “Then while you hope,” Antonio whimpered. “If you find my will to live, let me know or bring it on over.”

  Avril heard the resonance of his voice muffle from beneath the sheets. “You’ll feel better in the morning,” she said, as she closed the door behind her.

  “Thank you,” he answered somberly. It was not the correct approach, but it was Antonio’s way.

  Lennie drove Avril back to her temporary home in Shepherds Bush. They talked briefly in the car about Antonio during the drive.

  “I don’t mind talking to Dale Lambert about it,” Lennie reiterated from behind the wheel of his car. “After all, I retained him.”

  “I can do it,” Avril breathed, though dubious on where she would start.

  “Do you have his number?”

  Avril suddenly realized she didn’t. “No, I don’t.”

  “Then I’ll call him,” Lennie reasoned. “I’ll give him your new apartment number, then if he needs to know anything further, he can contact you.”

  There was a moment of silence, before Avril ventured to tell Lennie. “Dale Lambert’s taking me out to the theater on Saturday night.”

  “He is!” Lennie enthused. “That’s wonderful.”

  “He is a nice guy, isn’t he, Lennie?” she asked. After everything Antonio had said, she did feel a little uncertain. “You would tell me if he wasn’t, wouldn’t you?”

  “Avril,” Lennie began affectionately. “I know Dale Lambert’s family. It was his own father who recommended that I use him. Before I came to England and married your momma, I lived in New Jersey. I wasn’t always the man you see before you now. I made mistakes. I got into a situation once which your mother knows nothing about.”

  “And Dale got you out,” Avril acknowledged, recalling his mention of it.

  “I shot a man,” Lennie disclosed suddenly. “It wasn’t fatal. I capped his knee because he tr
ied to hijack my car while my seventy-nine-year-old mother was in the backseat. I was driving her to the airport where she was scheduled to take a flight to Haiti for my brother to pick her up at the other end.”

  “Oh God,” Avril breathed.

  “I was one of the first cases Dale represented in a court of law,” Lennie said proudly. “The hijacker tried to incriminate me by saying the gun wasn’t his, but Dale proved otherwise. I shot that man with his own gun in self-defense. My life was in my hand when I snatched that gun from him. It discharged by accident during our struggle. We all could’ve been killed because I was still attempting to drive the car at the time.”

  “This sounds like something out of a movie,” Avril said in shock.

  “It felt like it at the time, too,” Lennie confessed. “If it wasn’t for Dale Lambert, I could’ve gone down for possession of a deadly weapon. After the case, Dale told me that he was heading back to England because he’d been born there. I decided to apply for a visa and join him. I would never have made it to England and found love again with your mother if it wasn’t for that man.”

  A smile crept on Avril’s face. “Why won’t you tell my mother about what happened?” she asked curiously.

  “Bertha,” Lennie began, “in case you haven’t noticed, has a flair for the dramatic.”

  It was not the first time Avril had heard this said about her mother’s spirited wings. “I know,” she agreed.

  “And,” Lennie added for clarity. “I would rather you didn’t tell her about the things I just said. She’d only fret.”

  That was true, too. “It’s between you and me,” she told Lennie. “And that’s where it’ll stay.”

  The moment he put her outside Reuben Meyer’s apartment block, Avril was beat. “I’ll tell Dale to call you and let you know what’s happening, okay,” Lennie said before departing.

  Avril waved goodbye and walked toward the building. Somewhere among her thoughts, Dale lingered. She should have arranged to see him sooner, then she would not be feeling so alone presently. The day had been long and dreadful and what she yearned for now was to be smothered in kisses.

  She was hungry, too, only eating a small mouthful of food at her mother’s house before leaving. And though she had enjoyed what was effectively her second day on the job for Reuben Meyer and speaking briefly with two of her neighbors, she had been unable to tell no one how different it had been to any kind of work she’d done before.

  Avril stepped toward the elevator and waited. It was a bleak August evening that threatened rain on a cold wind. As she stared dismally at the steel doors in front of her, then around the exterior of the building that had been renovated into small apartments, her mind wandered. The housing project had been partly funded by Reuben Meyer, a select group of investors and public money provided by the government.

  Earlier she had waved at a further four residents on her level. Each floor of the ten storey building was ranked that way. Her one-bedroom apartment was situated on level five and Avril couldn’t wait to get there and put her feet up. Only then would she be able to relax.

  She acknowledged the three residents—an elderly man and two young women—when they approached the elevator and joined the wait. Avril threw them all a weak smile and shivered slightly as a wretched breeze swept on by.

  “Cold night, isn’t it?” the man said, while rubbing his hands together. He was a stout brown-faced man with fiery white hair styled in the manner of the infamous Don King.

  “Yes, it is,” Avril agreed.

  “Are you new to the block?” he probed. He was dressed warmly in a long overcoat and Avril immediately saw her opportunity to glean information from him.

  “I moved in yesterday,” she answered, introducing herself with her current pageant title.

  “The name’s Mr. McGregory,” the man responded. “Malcolm,” he abridged seconds later. “I’m on level three, apartment C15 and this is Miss Weisberg and Mrs. Banjabi.” He indicated the two women. “They’re on level one.”

  The elevator arrived and they all stepped in. As the doors closed, Avril accepted their handshakes. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “What do you think of the building?”

  “It’s not what we expected,” Mrs. Banjabi began on a heavy sigh. Shrouded entirely in black, with only her face peeking out, she looked as sad as she appeared. “I signed my lease on the understanding that there would be mixed residents sharing this block.”

  Avril was confused. The other two neighbors she’d briefly talked to had not said anything controversial. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, raising her brows slightly.

  Miss Weisberg elaborated in an Eastern European accent. “I and most of my fellow tenants when nominated by our local council to be housed in this newly renovated block had no idea that this was to be an all non-white scheme. This segregating is not representative of how I feel nor is it something I endorse.”

  “We want nothing more than to be treated equally,” Mrs. Banjabi continued. “I’m a young widow from Jordan. My English husband died from a bomb attack while filming current affairs in the Middle East. My children and I deserve to share in the culture and experience of their father’s country, not be kept apart from it.”

  “You told us that you’re Miss African-Caribbean,” Miss Weisberg swiftly recalled. “Maybe you can do something to highlight this problem. Talk to the people who own this project and make them understand.”

  “I can try,” Avril said, accepting the responsibility.

  The elevator doors swung open and the two ladies stepped out, waving their farewells. With Mr. McGregory remaining, the doors closed. “We don’t mean to alarm you,” he said, almost apologetic. “I came to this country in 1956 from Ghana and I can tell you, this country has changed. Many black and minority ethnic organizations, while claiming to seek equality, obtain public and private funding to promote separatism. Maybe you can help.”

  As the doors opened again, Avril smiled, swept by the unexpected tide of information. “I would like to help,” she promised.

  “Then drop by for tea sometime,” the old man smiled. “Maybe I can interest you in a game of backgammon.”

  As he left, Avril welcomed the diversion from the awful revelations about her brother’s life. She was back to thinking about putting her feet up, but one person loomed at the forefront of her mind. Dale Lambert. Amid the circumstances she’d just discovered about the tenants living in her block, her limbs were suddenly responding tentatively to the shivering sensations that his image triggered.

  It was not the cold.

  In her apartment, Avril kicked off her shoes and shrugged out of her jacket. Seconds later, she jumped at the sound of the phone in the hallway. Anticipating the person on the other end to be her mother braced for another conversation concerning her brother, Avril chose to ignore it.

  Instead, she plodded with stocking feet to the bathroom and plugged the bath. Applying Dead Sea salts, Avril turned on the taps. The phone stopped and she let out a sigh of relief. She could now take a hot soak with a magazine and a glass of wine from a bottle she had placed in the fridge. That was the plan.

  But no sooner was she out of her clothes, the phone started again. This was the final straw in a day full of giant headaches. In her bare feet, Avril padded from her bedroom, dressed only in her toweling robe and snatched up the receiver.

  “Mom,” she hollered, annoyed. “I’m getting ready for bed.”

  “Can I join you?” a male voiced tainted with a Florida accent returned.

  Avril’s heart stopped. “Dale!”

  “I got this phone number from your mother,” he said. “She tells me you’re in a new apartment.”

  “Uh huh,” Avril gasped, lost for words.

  “I guess you’ve passed on that chance to move in with me?” he asked, though Dale knew it had been a premature offer to make.

  “The apartment goes with the job Reuben Meyer gave me yesterday,” Avril explained on a rapid breath. “I’ve not
been able to tell anyone about it yet.”

  “You can tell me,” Dale invited.

  Avril inhaled, uncertain. “It’s getting late.”

  “I need to see you,” he breathed.

  Her body reacted to his yearning tone. “I was just about to take a bath,” she said, stalling for time. Savoring the precious moment of hearing his voice while she tried to tame her thoughts.

  “I can wash your back while we talk,” Dale suggested on a tease.

  Avril’s mouth dried out. Oh God! She needed him, but she kept right on procrastinating. “You don’t have my address.”

  “Your mother gave me that, too,” Dale added softly.

  “So you haven’t seen Lennie?” Avril inquired, deliberately stretching the subject.

  “Does he want to see me?”

  “Tony didn’t get his job back,” Avril explained. “We don’t know why.”

  “I do,” Dale disclosed quietly. “Let me come on over.”

  There it was again. That pining tone, pulling her in. “I’m not dressed,” she said, holding off, feeling that her emotions could quickly get out of hand and not at all certain that she wanted them to.

  Dale’s voice was hoarse. “What are you wearing?”

  “My body beneath my bathrobe,” Avril chuckled on a flirt.

  “Are you going to let me in when I knock?” he asked on a labored breath.

  Avril’s loins suddenly burned with desire. “We’ll see,” she teased and replaced the handset.

  Chapter 11

  The knock was three taps. Evenly paced. Avril’s heart raced the moment the sound echoed down her hallway. It couldn’t be Dale Lambert. She had only spoken to him five minutes ago.

  Still in her bathrobe, she paused at the bathroom door, uncertain. It wasn’t fear. What she was suffering from was basic sensual madness and Avril had not encountered this feeling before. Her mind was running in all directions. Excitement. Trepidation. There was a sense of restlessness, too.

  Another three knocks. Persistent. Hard knuckles against wood, an eager hunter at her door. The predatory motion heightened her senses further. Avril was definitely at odds with herself. Each step, slightly hurried, was filled with manic sensation.