Love Me or Leave Me

by Gwynne Forster

  Rhoda seemed embarrassed. “They’ll know what to wear on such an occasion.”

  She leaned back in her chair and looked closely at Rhoda, wondering whether she was playing games. “If I’m the only woman there wearing gloves and a wide summer hat, you’ll have a problem on your hands. Are men wearing morning coats, or what?”

  “Well, I said men should dress according to what their date was wearing. ’Scuse me if that’s not kosher. You’re coming, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “And you’re bringing…er…that guy?”

  “I will be accompanied by a man, provided I can find one who doesn’t mind having to guess what to wear.” There were times when a little bit of Rhoda was sufficient to nearly suffocate Pamela. No one should be so transparent. This bears watching, she said to herself.

  After getting the list of top news stories, she set about deciding which ones would receive a thorough treatment, chose four and got down to serious work.

  The green button on her phone blinked twice. “Mr. Harrington on line two, Pamela,” her secretary said.

  Her right hand went to her chest as if to decelerate the runaway beating of her heart. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi what? I expected to hear ‘Hello, darling,’ anything sweeter than ‘hi.’ You miss me?”

  “Woefully.”

  “Good. I have a plan. Suppose you spend every other weekend with me at Eagle Park, and I’ll spend every other weekend in Baltimore with you. Of course, when I have to be in Barbados, we’ll get off schedule, but we can adjust it. What do you say?”

  He was moving faster than she’d thought, but that was one initiative that she welcomed. “I’d like that, but what about your family? Won’t they get tired of me?”

  “Why should they get tired of you? Anyway, they won’t. I want us to see as much of each other as possible. Say yes.”

  The man was a steamroller. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’d better get to work. I’ll be in Frederick for the remainder of the working day. Call you tonight. Bye, sweetheart.”

  “Bye, love.” Whew! She blew out a long, deep breath, tried to focus on her work and finally managed to dig out the information she needed for the two leading stories. But for the first time in memory, something vied with her work for her interest and attention.

  “How about lunch?” Raynor said when she answered her intercom.

  “Sure. What time?”

  They agreed to meet in the staff café in twenty minutes. “What on earth did you do over the holiday?” he asked her. “You’re blooming.”

  She grinned. “Thanks,” she said, and let his question go unanswered.

  Over ham-and-cheese sandwiches and coffee, he told her that Lawrence would be released from the hospital the following day, that he was on probation and had accepted the transfer to the station’s Honolulu affiliate.

  “I can’t say I’m sorry to see him go, and I am definitely glad there’s been no publicity about this. It would have been bad for WRLR,” Raynor said.

  She stopped eating and looked her boss in the eye. “I’m glad it doesn’t reflect badly on the station. After all, I work here. But I would have testified against him with no thought for WRLR. The man is a menace, a schizophrenic capable of doing bodily harm.”

  “And I would have supported you. I’m only saying I’m grateful it didn’t go further.”

  She picked up her sandwich, examined it and put it down. “How do they manage to make this stuff taste so awful?”

  Raynor ran his hand over his thinning hair and allowed himself a slight flexing of his right shoulder. “It takes talent, and the kitchen help in this building have plenty of it.”

  She had been back at her desk no more than five minutes when her phone rang. “Ms. Brighton on line one, Pamela.” What a day for surprises! She greeted Velma warmly and then listened to the woman’s request.

  “I’m getting married Saturday of Labor Day weekend, and I’d be so happy if you’d be one of my bridesmaids.”

  She nearly gasped. Immediately, it occurred to her that Drake probably asked Velma to invite her. Well, she didn’t care. If that was the case, it meant that he wanted to involve her in something that was important to his family. She’d liked Velma, so she didn’t hesitate.

  “I’m honored, Velma. I’ll be delighted. I suppose you already have a color and style in mind for the dresses.”

  “Style, yes. The two colors remaining are tea rose and mauve-pink. Take your choice.”

  “Two good colors. Tea rose for me. I gather that rainbow colors are your bridesmaid’s scheme. It’s a great idea, because not all of the dozen bridesmaids will look great in the same color.”

  Velma gave her the name of a dressmaker in Baltimore. “I’m free Thursday night, if you’d like me to go with you. We could have dinner together and make an evening of it.” She gave Pamela her home and office addresses as well as her telephone numbers.

  A friend. A girlfriend, something she’d never had. Her mother had always been her best friend. In college, she’d tried to be like the other girls, but rejected that course when a man every girl wanted swore that he wanted her most of all; her experience with him proved humiliating. After that incident, she walked alone until she met Drake Harrington.

  “That would be wonderful,” she told Velma. “I’ll be at your office around six-thirty.”

  She hung up and called Drake. “Did you ask Velma Brighton to include me among her bridesmaids?”

  “I definitely did not. However, Russ probably mentioned it to her. Did you agree?”

  “I did, and we’re meeting for dinner Thursday. I liked her very much when we were together at your home, and I hope we can be good friends. I don’t have a buddy…a girlfriend, I mean.”

  “Thanks for clarifying that. I’m glad you agreed. It’s good to know you’ll be a part of something that’s so important to me.”

  “Who’s best man—you or Telford?”

  “I am. Russ was Telford’s best man.”

  “That means when you marry, Telford will be your best man, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose so. Can you spend this coming weekend with me in Eagle Park, or would you rather we spend it in Baltimore? At home, I can rent a horse for you, and we can go riding Saturday morning if you’d like.”

  “I’d love that. Eagle Park it is, then.”

  “Great. Love you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What the devil does that mean?” he chided. “I’m a fragile person. Spell it out, will you?”

  Laughter poured out of her. “You? Fragile? The thought breaks me up. Tender, maybe. Tell you what. I’ll sort it out and write a report on your emotional state. Don’t be surprised if I conclude that you’re one tough brother.”

  “If that’s the kind of man you like, fine with me. I’m waiting.”

  “I love you. Goodbye.”

  “Me, too,” he said, his two words punctuated with laughter. “Call you tonight. Bye.”

  She replaced the phone in its cradle, folded her hands and rested her chin on them. “Lord,” she prayed, “please don’t let anything happen to take away this happiness.”

  On the way home, she bought a dress that she thought appropriate for a garden party that started at six in the evening: a peach-colored silk with a deep V neckline, spaghetti straps and a slit two inches above the left knee. She found a wide organdy hat the same color and considered her shopping completed. That evening, she told Drake she thought it was all right for him to wear a summer suit.

  “What about a white linen one? What color is your dress?” She told him. “Good. I’ll see if I can find a tie that color.”

  A sixth sense told her that she would destroy Rhoda’s advantage, but she ignored it. What proof did she have that Rhoda had gone to all that trouble merely for a chance to make a play for Drake? But if she hadn’t, why was she so interested in whether he’d be there? If she steps out of line, I guarantee her she’ll make an important discovery.


  “Some place,” she said to Velma when she walked into the establishment of Brighton Caterers and Home Designers, Inc.

  “Thanks. It’s my dream come true. Come with me, and I’ll show you around. We don’t have to be at the dressmaker’s before nine.”

  Pamela gazed, awestruck at the chrome kitchen, the food storage compartments, freezers and the big hall lined with shelves of coordinated linens and porcelains, glassware and cutlery.

  “I still have to rent a lot of things, especially for large affairs such as weddings, galas, bar mitzvahs and such, but having the basics saves me a pile of money.”

  “Are you going to continue the business after you marry?”

  Velma whirled around, and her face creased into a deep frown. “Is there some reason why I shouldn’t? My office is more than big enough to accommodate a crib and a baby carriage. I could put a partition right over there.” She pointed to a corner area made interesting by a large Gothic-style window. “I even have a waterfall over there that could lull the baby to sleep. Besides, work is something I need.”

  She kicked off her flat shoes and put on a pair that had a heel about an inch higher. “I used to walk around in spike-heeled shoes with me feet killing me so I would look taller, but I’ve decided that I like me just the way I am, and Russ does, too. So I don’t give a hoot who’s tall, no offense intended. I also stopped piling my hair up on my head to look tall, and quit wearing caftans to hide my round figure. What you see is what you get.”

  Pamela laughed, not at Velma’s newfound philosophy, but in relief that she liked Velma even more than when she first met her. She laughed because she suspected she had found a down-to-earth woman like herself. Testing the possibility of a friendship, she said, “I was wondering how you got shorter and slimmer at the same time. It usually works the other way.”

  “Honey, I got slimmer ’cause I starved myself to death and lost a few pounds. Then I decided that my genes are perfectly good ones—they keep me healthy and they let me grow up to be intelligent. If a little extra weight is the price, that’s better than being sickly and stupid.”

  Happiness suffused Pamela, and she laughed aloud. “You’re not much good at rationalizing, are you?”

  Velma whooped. “Girl, I can find an excuse for anything I do.” Suddenly, she sobered. “Do you mind my asking how things are with you and Drake? I had hoped for a relationship between you two.”

  “Until a few days ago, nothing had passed between us but a few kisses, although they’d been gathering steam, as it were. Then, this past weekend our relationship took off like a Thoroughbred out of control. It’s…almost everything I’ve dreamed of.”

  Velma locked her desk and switched off the ceiling light. “Did you say almost?”

  She studied the woman, wondering how much she should confide, and a rueful smile flittered across her face. “Velma, I’m almost thirty-one years old, and I want a family. I’ve been in love with Drake for months, and he now says he loves me. We’re tight. But I want to start my family before I’m a candidate for a string of miscarriages and ill-developed babies. He hasn’t said a word about the future.”

  “I’m thirty-two, and I’m not planning to get pregnant until I’ve been married two years. I’m healthy, and I’m not worried. You shouldn’t be, either. And for Pete’s sake don’t let the man think you’re only looking for a sperm machine. That kind of pressure would have sent Casanova to a Viagra clinic. I suppose you know Drake isn’t what he seems to be.”

  “I realize that in some ways, but how do you mean it?”

  Velma didn’t pull punches. “Those Harrington men are very good-looking and rich, and people who don’t know them wrongly assume them to be arrogant, superficial, shallow and women-chasers. That is what they think of Drake, especially, because he is exceptionally good-looking and has that smile that suggests he’s a playboy. Drake hates that people take a look at him and assume he’s trifling, and he drives himself to build his accomplishments, to be respected for his work.”

  “I learned a great deal about Drake from observing him, and he’s recently told me things that led me to understand his concerns and his personality. But your summary brings it into clearer focus, and I thank you.”

  “No need to thank me. I’m hoping we’ll be sisters-in-law.”

  They drove their separate cars to the restaurant, a ten-minute drive from Velma’s office. Pamela saw the window sign indicating that the restaurant served soul food, and her mouth began to water for fried catfish, hush puppies and stewed collards. She gave the waiter her order without picking up the menu.

  “Yes, ma’am, and would you like sweetened iced tea with that?” She nodded and waited for Velma to order.

  “What kind of oil does the chef use for frying?” Velma asked the waiter.

  “Pure canola oil, ma’am. For everything else, sautéing and such, he uses olive oil. We serve healthy soul food in this restaurant.”

  “I’ll have the same.” She cleared her throat, and as the man walked away she said, “If it’s all that healthy, it ain’t soul food. I came in here to do my weekly sinning.”

  “Yeah,” Pamela said. “And if he cooks my collards with olive oil, I’m going make a picket sign and spend my lunch hours strolling in front of this restaurant.”

  Velma saw the waiter at a nearby table and called him. “I hope the chef doesn’t cook collards in olive oil. Does he?”

  The waiter raised his chin and looked down his nose at her. “We serve collards here, not weeds. Our collards are prepared with the finest North Carolina smoked ham hocks, water, salt and red-pepper flakes.” His chin went up a bit more. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No, thank you,” she said, having been made to feel as if she had committed a crime. “When a brother decides to put you down, Pamela, he makes sure you know what he’s doing.”

  After the meal, they drove across town to Jenny’s Designer Fashions, owned and operated by a former homeless woman who got a second chance. “Jenny, this is Pamela, one of my bridesmaids, and she wants her dress in tea rose.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, Pamela. Tea rose, huh?” She took swatches of fabric and put them against Pamela’s face. “That’s a good color for you, but did you ever wear mauve-pink?”

  “I’m not overly fond of pink.”

  “I don’t blame you, but this is a kind of lavender pink.” She put the bolt of fabric on Pamela’s shoulder, wrapped several yards around her and walked with her to the mirror. “What do you think?”

  “I’ll take the pink. It’s beautiful.”

  Jenny measured her. “Hmm. You’ve got a nice long waist. I’m going to drop both the neckline and the waistline for you. Hmm. Square shoulders. No problem there. Sewing for you will be a cinch.” She gave Pamela her card. “I’d like you to come for a fitting next Thursday about this time. Can you?”

  “I’ll be here.” She shook hands with Jenny, and they left. “How long was she homeless?”

  “She lived on the street for almost two years. Slept and ate on the street. Can you believe that? I met her through a friend, Veronica Henderson, the woman who befriended her. Want to meet for dinner next Thursday?”

  “You and Russ are both here in Baltimore, and you don’t see each other every night?”

  “Russ is drawing up plans for a shopping mall that he and his brothers are considering building in Accra, Ghana. When he’s sketching plans for a kind of structure that he hasn’t previously designed, he hardly leaves his desk. His mind is on that and that alone. That’s why he’s so good at what he does.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “Heavens, no. I want him to be as good as he can be.” She stopped walking. “If you trust your man, you’ll give him the space he needs to do whatever he sets himself to do. He’ll be happy, and you’ll be happy. If you can’t do that, stay away from strong men.”

  “I follow you there. What about when I need space? Am I entitled to whatever space I need whenever I n
eed it?”

  Velma leaned against the hood of her car and dangled her keys in her right hand. “We independent women lead a double life. We’re capable of taking care of ourselves and managing our lives, but we are also nurturers and nesters. If we’re not there for the man, he won’t come home. And a man who needs you to love him is precious, Pamela. A gift from God. Does Drake need you?”

  “He needs me.” Tears blurred her vision as she thought of the miracle of that statement.

  “You’re a blessed woman.”

  “Thanks for talking with me, for being my friend.”

  Chapter 9

  “Are you going to Frederick this afternoon?” Telford asked Drake. “I thought we’d sit with Russ and go over the work he’s done on the Accra shopping mall.”

  “Can we postpone that until tonight? I’ve got a new man on the job, and I want to see how he’s doing. If my hunch is right, he’ll be an asset. See you at dinner.”

  He laced up his boots—he wore them on the construction site because he hated brogans—felt the back of his jeans pocket for his wallet and bounded down the stairs.

  Henry stepped out of the pantry and called to Drake. “You planning to be home for supper? I’m having a nice pork roast, and I’m going to roast it out back on the grill. One of them new recipes Alexis came up with.”

  “You bet I’ll be here. Roast the potatoes while you’re at it, and put some fresh rosemary in the roasting pan.”

  Henry braced his hands on his hips. “I thought you was a engineer. Now you’re telling me you’re a cook.”

  Drake held up his hands palms out. “All right. All right. I stand corrected. See you at supper.”

  “Bring me some double-smoked bacon and a couple of ropes of country sausage. I’m out of breakfast meat for Tara and Tel.”

  “Okay.” He looked down at Henry and patted his shoulder. “For you, anything. See you.”

  Thirty-five minutes later, he parked in front of the construction site. He’d been away from it for four days, but considering how his life had changed in the interim, years seemed to have passed. He got out of the car, put on his hard hat and went in search of Jack, his foreman. Instead of Jack, he met Pete’s father.