Against All Odds (Arabesque)

by Gwynne Forster

  “I’ll get my coat. Have a seat.” He didn’t move.

  “You do that, Melissa.” He watched the devil-may-care way she walked, turned his back, and tried to think about the problems at Leather and Hides, but those thoughts didn’t lessen the heat in him. She returned quickly, too quickly. One look at her—scented as she was with a subtle but extravagant perfume and bundled up past the neck, waiflike to thwart the cold—and he struggled against man’s most primitive impulse. I’m in danger here, he admitted to himself and sought to introduce some levity into the situation.

  “I can hardly see you in all that stuff you’ve got on.” His gaze stroked her face; not pretty but strangely beautiful.

  Melissa’s shoulders hunched in anticipation of the outside temperature. “I don’t like to be cold.”

  “No reason why you should be. I’ll keep you warm.”

  “Said the spider to the fly,” she shot back, gazing up at him as though to confirm his meaning. He watched her teasing look dissolve into awareness and knew that he hadn’t reduced the tension, but worsened it.

  “Let’s go while we can still walk.”

  “Where are we going?” He helped her into the passenger’s seat, awed as she struggled to sit down with what could pass for decorum.

  “Wherever you like.”

  He gazed down at her. “If you’re so afraid of getting cold, why are you wearing your skirt a yard above your knee? And it’s so tight, you could hardly sit down. Didn’t you ever hear of comfort?” Her glare might have been meant to shame him, but he held his course.

  “You’ve practically hidden your neck and face, and they’re least likely to feel the cold, but your lower precious parts are left to freeze.” He tapped his forehead with a long index finger. “Universities ought to give courses in deciphering the female enigma, and the male students should be forced to take them.”

  “If you’re not happy with the way I look,” she huffed, “I’ll get out and go right back in the house, and I’ll stay there.” The breath from his laughter fogged the mirror.

  “You look great to me, always do, and like I said, it’ll give me great pleasure to warm you.”

  He drove to the mom-and-pop restaurant where they’d once encountered Wayne and found comfortable seats in the nearly empty but charming room. Melissa smoothed the red and white checkered tablecloth, wondering whether it was the time to open a discussion of what they seemed to have been avoiding.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me about your trip? How did you find things?”

  He took his time answering. “Thanks for the tip. You were right about the raiders, but my people are loyal to me. Go ahead and do what you can for Dan—he’s in a difficult situation.” She wondered why they spent precious time talking about his staff, her staff, and a myriad of unimportant, impersonal things. He must have shared her exasperation at it, for he reached across the still empty table, grasped her fingers, and asked her, “Did you miss me, Melissa?” But before she could answer, what passed for a laugh escaped him.

  “You didn’t have enough time for that. I was only away overnight.” Their locked fingers appeared strange to her, as if they didn’t belong together. She wanted to tell him about her mother and Bill Henry, but couldn’t force herself to do it, because she didn’t want to hide behind that tortured relationship. When she looked at him, sensations swirled within her at the brilliant twinkle in his eyes. He tipped up her chin, and she brushed his hand aside.

  “I missed you.”

  “But you didn’t miss me when you were away for a week. How was that?”

  Melissa squinted at him, frowned and bit her bottom lip. “Are you trying to pick a fight? Or what?” His wry smile brought a catch to her throat.

  “Not me. I’m a peaceful man. I figure that at this stage there ought to be some honesty between us.”

  “Adam, the kind of honesty you want is not good for your ego. How about you being honest?”

  That grin should have warned me, she thought, when he said, “No problem. I want to make love with you, and I don’t feel a bit casual about it.”

  “Oh,” she blustered. “Is that a direct pass?” Adam laughed.

  * * *

  The waiter’s long awaited arrival interrupted them, but Adam returned to the subject. “I’ve said before that you can’t be as naive as you sometimes seem. You shy away from intimacy until I drag you into it. Why is that?”

  “Adam, you enjoy digging into my personality and my life, but if we sat here until doomsday, I wouldn’t learn one thing about you that everybody else doesn’t know.” His look was one of funereal solemnity.

  “That’s because I ask; you don’t.”

  She placed her fork on her plate, leaned back in the booth, and looked directly into his eyes. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “No, but I’ve been close to it.” Her eyes widened in surprise, and he wondered how deeply she felt, but he didn’t ask her. She’d veiled her emotions. Even her eyes told him nothing. He switched topics, hoping to smooth over whatever damage his answer might have caused.

  “You never told me what you thought of Wayne as a mummy hell bent on frightening every kid in Frederick.” Relief and something akin to joy settled over him when her eyes lit and a smile broke out all over her face. But when she said, “Oh, Adam, you’re wonderful,” he had to caress her and maneuvered to her side of the booth, squeezed her quickly, and feathered her cheek with his lips. Frissons of heat exploded in him as her hot gaze drank in the warm affection that he knew was reflected in his eyes. Oh, the wonder of her! His heartbeat accelerated and his senses whirled when she lowered her gaze, obviously embarrassed at her inability to hide her response. They finished the meal in contented silence.

  He wanted to share with her his deepening concern about the sabotage at Leather and Hides. He needed desperately to confirm her loyalty to him. But if she were guilty of betrayal, he would have tipped his hand. And even if she were innocent, if one of her relatives had a hand in it, to whom would she be loyal? He needed to know that she stood with him, and he needed her. Badly.

  He parked, walked with her up the short cemented path to her house, and stood looking down at her, hands jammed in his coat pockets and his back braced against the outer wall of the house. His breath hung in his lungs as she reached into her bag for her keys, then hissed through his lips when she didn’t hand them to him, but opened the door herself. He straightened up, and tugged at her ear with his gloved hand.

  “It was a lovely evening, Melissa, and an informative one.” He brushed her cheek. “Good night.” He didn’t feel much like whistling when he got into his car, but he thought he’d better, because it was the only way he had right then to blow off steam. He knew his whole body had telegraphed to her his desire to be with her, to make love with her, and it hadn’t escaped her, either. She was obviously less sophisticated than he’d thought—hard working, intelligent, her own woman, but afraid to take a chance. Concern for the reaction of their families wasn’t stopping her from seeing him, nor from responding to him whenever he put his hands on her. So what had kept her out of bed with him?

  He parked, secured the house, went into his room and closed the door, knowing that he faced a long, restless night. If he did the smart thing, he’d drop it, but he hadn’t gotten where he was by accepting defeat. He wanted her, and he had no intention of giving up.

  * * *

  Ten minutes after Adam left her, Melissa answered her doorbell thinking it might be him. Her father glared at her.

  “At least you sent him home. If you can’t leave those people alone, you can consider yourself no longer a member of my family. No kin of mine is going to consort with them.”

  Anger paralyzed her tongue, and she stammered in frustration. Finally her calm restored, words that had long wanted release spilled from her lips, and she faced him defiantly and more resolutely than ever before. “You never treated me as a member of your family, and if you read me out of it, I won’t lose a thing. I might
even gain something.”

  No blow struck him, she noticed and marveled that a father could be so cavalier about his daughter’s feelings. His only reaction was the lifting of his forehead and the movement of his jaw. He wasn’t used to the posture she’d assumed with him.

  “They’ve already turned you against us,” he said. “Even your cousin Timmy is more loyal to us than you are. But you mark my word, young lady, you’re going to be sorry for this. You’re just like your mother.”

  She spoke in a gentle tone. There was no point in beating a dead horse. “If I am, I don’t consider it a disadvantage. Is that why you’ve never loved me, never wanted me?”

  “Did she tell you I didn’t want you?”

  “No. I feel it. I’ve always felt it.” He looked into the distance and pursed his lips as though reminded of an unpleasantness.

  “It was what came before you that I didn’t want. A man can stand just so much.”

  “What did it have to do with me? Any eyes can see that I’m your daughter.”

  He quirked an eyebrow and in icelike tones informed her, “I’ve had no reason to doubt your mother’s virtue. But once she had you, she didn’t care about anybody or anything else.”

  Melissa stared at him in disbelief. “How can you say that? Both of you ignored me.” He didn’t deny his share in it.

  “After your brother, Schyler, was born, I had to make your mother concentrate on him. She was too wrapped up in you. A baby, especially a boy, needs all of its mother’s time.” She didn’t comment on that. Clearly he either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell her why he had rejected her. Indeed, he didn’t appear to realize that he’d done it. She reached for the doorknob simultaneously with him.

  “Good night, Father.” He appeared to hesitate, but he only said, “Good night.”

  * * *

  Adam jumped out of bed at the sound of his beeper and switched on the light beside his bed. Damn. Two thirty in the morning.

  “Roundtree.” He sat on the edge of his bed, while Calvin Nelson recounted the havoc he’d just discovered at Leather and Hides. Zirconium salt had been applied with great care to the grain side or upper leather intended for the manufacture of fine shoes, so that the tanning process produced a white rather than bluish, more elastic, leather used for such shoes. Some of the hides could be retanned with chrome salts and used for lower-grade clothing, Calvin told him, but most of that expensive lot had been rendered useless.

  He rested his elbow on his knee and dropped his forehead in his hand. “Any leads?”

  “Sorry, Adam. Not a one, but I’ll keep after it.”

  “I know you will.” He got back in bed. He’d been two hundred and fifty miles away the night before, and nothing untoward had happened. But tonight while he was a couple of miles away... He sat up. Was somebody trying to frame Melissa? From the time she came back, the saboteur had usually struck when he was with her, and nobody who was as smart as she would incriminate themselves with such strong circumstantial evidence. The possibility that he might have found a clue that didn’t implicate her enabled him to get to sleep.

  * * *

  Adam ambled into the dining room the next morning to find his mother, brother, and Bill Henry waiting for him. Mary Roundtree had called a family conference, and Adam’s surprise at Bill Henry’s presence was evidence that he hadn’t been consulted. He took his place at the table, and they knew his restrained good morning was nothing less than censure.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve taken to eating soul food, B-H?” He needled his uncle whom he regarded as a health nut. “What’s the matter, sick of alfalfa and bean sprouts?” It didn’t surprise him that his comment wasn’t lost on his mother. She had always been able to detect his anger no matter how subtly he expressed it.

  “I called the meeting, Adam, because we have to put an end to this destruction of Leather and Hides. I’m going to be honest with you. I believe this problem started because of your flirtation with Melissa, and that it’ll continue as long as you’re seeing her. The Morrises and Grants are out to destroy us.”

  He had to suppress his irritation. “What proof do you have, Mother? And let’s get it straight that I am not flirting with Melissa Grant. I’m involved with her.”

  Her lips curled in anger. “You know I don’t have any proof. But I’m an intelligent person, and I know that the problem began when you hired her to find the manager, and it intensified when she just happened to move back home after a little absence of nine or ten years.”

  Adam leaned forward, planted both elbows on the table—in a gesture that he recognized as one of defiance since his mother counseled that no part of the human body should touch the top of the table during a meal—and supported his cheeks with his fist. Then he sat up straight and articulated his words with Churchillian accuracy.

  “If anyone present wants my job as CEO of Hayes/Roundtree Enterprises, Inc., that person is welcome to it, and I can get back to New York and take care of my business.” His glance swept the table. “No takers? Well, that settles it.” He rose without having eaten or drunk anything and addressed his mother.

  “Mother, I consider myself responsible for our family and

  its affairs, and I’ll sacrifice a lot for our family, but I won’t

  walk away from Melissa Grant unless I have proof—” he folded his right fist and slapped it into the open palm of his left hand “—unless I have indisputable proof that she isn’t worth my...my attention. If none of you has proof, I don’t want to hear this kind of talk again. How would you feel, and what would you do if you were in my place?” He walked to the door, but paused there as Wayne began to speak.

  “I spent some time with her and Adam a couple of weeks ago, and I thought she was nice. In fact I rather liked her. If the Grants are involved in this, she doesn’t have to know about it. I know you can’t look at a person and tell whether she’s honest, but she impressed me as being straight. But like I said, it was a first impression.”

  Adam walked on as though impatient for fresh air and failed to remember his overcoat until he’d driven halfway to his office. Wayne’s endorsement had been weak and grudging compared to what his brother had said to him about Melissa.

  * * *

  Bill Henry Hayes finished his high-cholesterol breakfast, his first such meal in over twenty years, and walked around to the sideboard for another cup of mint tea. He leaned against it and commanded his sister’s attention. “Some things never change in this family. The people come and go, but the mentality manages to stay a little below moronic, especially about people’s private lives. You two are acting as if Adam isn’t Adam. He can take care of himself and his business, too. I met the young lady, and I like her. I like her a lot, in fact.” His gaze drilled his sister.

  “You’re ready to do the same thing to Adam and Melissa that these feuding families did to me over thirty years ago. You can’t control other people’s lives. Mary, I’d like you to guess what you would have done if anybody had so much as hinted that you couldn’t have John Roundtree. I doubt the United States Marines could have kept you from him. You watched what they did to me, and you’re willing to see the same thing happen to your firstborn child. I suggest both of you consider the hell Rafer is putting Melissa through because of Adam.”

  “What about her mother?” Wayne asked.

  Bill Henry set his cold tea on the table. “She’s one person who won’t stand in their way.”

  * * *

  Should she walk or drive the short distance to her office? Normally she walked, but dark clouds hovered ominously above and the weather forecast hadn’t made clear the severity of the coming storm. Finally she decided to walk, but as a precaution she put a flashlight and a bag of Snickers in her briefcase. Banks joined her a half block from the office building.

  “I see your folks had a miniconference at the Watering Hole last night. Seemed kinda strange that you and Miss Emily didn’t join them.”

  Melissa waited until they were inside the warm lo
bby before commenting.

  “Take your time,” Banks offered in a tone that suggested she was handing Melissa a gift. “Your teeth make such original music, Melissa. If mine danced around like that every time they got cold, I’d invent some mouth muffs. How’d you happen to miss that confab last night?”

  “Easily. I didn’t know anything about it, and since I was probably the reason for it, I’m not surprised that I wasn’t invited. As for Mother, none of them would expect her to go. Who was there?” Melissa marveled that her friend’s brow furrowed as though she was in deep thought, trying to recall what Melissa knew she had carefully memorized.

  “Let’s see, now,” Banks drawled. “Your mother’s sister Mable, your father, his brother Faison and sister Louise, her husband and her son Timmy. Uh...oh, yes, and Louise’s sister-in-law.” As if she’d just had successful acupuncture for excruciating pain, Banks beamed at her and declared, “I think that’s all.”

  Amusement buoyed Melissa as she entered the elevator. Too bad her mother hadn’t known about the clandestine little meeting. She might have gone just to spite them, and Banks could have enjoyed relating it even more.

  Banks got off at the third floor. “Sure you don’t want some of my hot doughnuts?” she called over her shoulder.

  “I want some, but I’m not going to eat any,” Melissa replied, her tone laced with regret as she continued to her office on the fourth floor. The elevator door closed, and her lips pursed in disapproval. Though she liked Banks, she disliked gossip. For the local African American citizenry, the Watering Hole and the church were the vats in which gossip fermented. You could hear all about the righteous folk in church circles, but at the Hole you could get the goods on everybody, the devout included. That was one of the things she’d been happy to miss in New York. Your neighbors couldn’t discuss your affairs, because they didn’t know anything about you, and few cared enough to speculate.

  She checked her email, called her part-time secretary in Baltimore, and got the same message from each source: a Texan named Cooper needed a ranch manager. For persistence, the man rivaled Adam, she thought, not a little irritated. If she didn’t answer, he should know that she wasn’t interested. All she knew about a ranch, she’d learned from Clint Eastwood movies and romance novels. She put a cassette in her tape recorder, but before she could begin dictating a letter refusing the job, her phone rang.