He’d exchanged his tailored suit, custom-made shirt, silk tie and imported footwear for a white T, jeans and a pair of thick white cotton socks. Light from the high hats and track lights reflected off the red in his coarse cropped hair. Deanna couldn’t remember the last time Spencer had allowed his hair to grow more than half an inch. He’d told her how he hated being a black man with red hair, but when she reminded him that El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, also known as Malcolm X, had red hair, Spencer never mentioned it again. She found his red hair and freckles cute—something she wouldn’t say openly, but she wondered if whether they did have a child if he or she would inherit their father’s and paternal grandmother’s titian strands.
“There’s something very sexy about a man in a kitchen.”
Spencer Tyson’s head popped up when he heard his wife’s sultry voice. He smiled, his light brown eyes twinkling like newly minted pennies. “What’s even sexier is having his woman in the kitchen with him,” he said, his Midwest drawl still evident despite having lived more than half his life in the South.
Deanna stood up straight. A platter with thinly sliced steak and chicken and a bowl of water with bamboo skewers indicated Spencer intended to grill the meat on the stove top and probably serve them with accompanying sauces. He knew she loved Thai cuisine, and there was no doubt he would concoct a spicy peanut sauce for the chicken.
“Do you need some help?”
Spencer shook his head. “No, but I could use some company.”
“Do I have time to shower and change into something more comfortable?”
“Of course. It’s going to be at least half an hour before everything is ready.”
Deanna blew him a kiss, then turned and walked down the hallway to the staircase that led to the second-floor bedrooms. Two years ago she and Spencer had made a decision to turn the third floor into space for entertaining family and friends, but they had yet to use it. However, Spencer wanted to upgrade the space and had a contractor install an elevator. Standing five-eight in bare feet and tipping the scales at one hundred forty-two pounds when stripped down to bare skin Deanna preferred walking the staircase to riding the elevator.
There were times when Spencer was preparing for a trial that he and his team stayed over in a downtown D.C. hotel, but whenever he came home after she’d gone to sleep he would usually bed down in one of the other bedrooms so not to disturb her. Deanna was fixated about getting at least seven hours of sleep or she would find herself out of sorts.
Her home had become a showplace thanks to Marisol Rivera-McDonald, who had become the go-to interior designer for Washington’s elite. Deanna had been introduced to Marisol at a soirée several years before, and they had hit it off immediately. There weren’t too many women in the D.C. area she would think of as a friend, but Marisol was the exception. They talked often and got together at least twice each month—whenever their busy schedules permitted.
Deanna expected to see Marisol and her political-consultant husband Bryce McDonald at the National Museum of Women in the Arts for the American Red Cross Annual Oscar Night fundraiser the first weekend in March. Spencer had bought a table for ten, and it would give Deanna a chance to reconnect with his law partners, their wives and the McDonalds.
She undressed, leaving her clothes in a large wicker hamper in the laundry room at the end of the hall. She’d had the laundry room moved from the first to the second floor because she’d tired of carrying baskets up the stairs. Although someone came in once a week to clean, Deanna felt uncomfortable with strangers handling her underwear. The phobia had come from her overly superstitious grandmother’s warning never to let anyone get a hold of her underwear because they could use it to cast an evil spell. Of all of her nana’s warnings, this was the only one that she’d adhered to.
Covering her hair with a large plastic shower cap, Deanna stepped into the shower stall. Punching several buttons, she programmed the water temperature before turning it on. She sighed as the warm water sluiced over her face and body. Usually she ended her day with a warm soak in the tub, but tonight it was a shower because she wanted to spend as much time as she could with Spencer before they went to bed.
After lathering her body with her favorite scented bath gel, Deanna rinsed off the bubbles and stepped out of the stall, reaching for a towel on the heated rack. Fifteen minutes later she skipped down the staircase in a pair of white sweatpants, matching tank top and fluffy slippers. She’d removed the elastic band from her hair and a profusion of twists framed her face while brushing her bare shoulders.
She walked up behind Spencer, wrapping her arms around his slim waist. For a man who spent hours sitting behind a desk he was incredibly physically fit. She knew there was a gym at the firm but doubted Spencer found the time to work out there.
“You keep pushing up on me like that and I’m going to have you as the appetizer.”
Deanna smiled as she pressed her cheek to his muscled shoulder. “I didn’t realize you were serving appetizers.”
Spencer glanced at his wife over his shoulder, finding her stunningly exotic. Her oval, flawless, medium-brown face with large almond-shaped light brown eyes was hypnotic. It had been her eyes and lush mouth that had caught his attention when he saw her at a party she’d planned in a private room at a D.C. restaurant. He’d asked for her business card, then called her the following week, not to contract for her services but for a date. One date led to a second one, and less than a year later they were husband and wife.
“I hadn’t planned to serve any. But if you want to be the appetizer, then we can wait for the entrée.”
Deanna pressed a kiss to his spine. “Oo-oo! I love it when my baby talks nasty.”
“Wrong. Your baby is hungry for his woman.”
She sobered. “How long has it been since we last made love?”
“Too long.”
Deanna knew Spencer was right. She was thirty-three and he thirty-seven, and they had to schedule time to make love with each other. When, she mused, had they become so involved in their careers that they had neglected each other? Would it continue after they became parents?
She closed her eyes. “I want you to promise me that we’ll make more time for each other, Spencer.”
His hands stilled. “You know I can’t do that, Deanna.”
“Why not?”
“Because every case is different. Some we’re able to settle and others we take to trial.”
“Can’t you let some of the other associates fill in for you?”
Spencer went back to peeling and chopping a shallot. “It depends on the case.”
“What’s going to happen when we have children, Spencer? Will I have to call and ask your secretary to schedule a time when you can see your son or daughter?”
Reaching for the arms around his waist, Spencer unclasped his wife’s hands and turned to face her. Vertical lines appeared between his eyes when he frowned. “That’s a cruel thing to say.”
Deanna refused back down. “Cruel or true?”
His frown deepened. “You damn well know it’s not going to be that way.”
“I don’t know how it’s going to be. All I have to go on is what’s happening in our lives right now. You just wrapped up a case, so you call to let me know that you’re going be home earlier than usual. How often does that happen?” Deanna asked. “When you get home I’m already asleep and when I get up in the morning you’re gone. If I don’t call you or if you don’t call me, then I wouldn’t know if you’re alive or dead. I married you because I’m in love with you, Spencer, but if I’d known what I know now—”
“Don’t say it,” Spencer interrupted. “Please don’t say you wouldn’t have married me, because we both know that’s not true. We married for all the right reasons. It’s just that we’re caught up with our careers. I’ve worked hard to make junior partner—”
“And you’ll work even harder to become a senior partner,” Deanna said, cutting him off. “How many more years will I have to put my
life on hold?”
“What are you talking about?”
“A baby, Spencer. I want a child, but I’m not going to bring a baby into a situation where he or she will have to deal with a part-time father.”
“Aren’t you being a little premature?” he asked.
“About what?”
Cradling Deanna’s face in his hands, Spencer kissed her forehead. “We have another two years before we start trying for a baby.”
“I don’t want to wait two years, Spencer. In two years I’ll be thirty-five and high risk. And my chances of having a baby with Down syndrome also increases with age.”
“There are tests to confirm that, and if it is then you’ll just abort it.”
Deanna felt as if someone had plunged a dagger into her chest, then twisted it until she found it impossible to draw a normal breath. “Abort!” she screamed. “Do you know how you sound? You’re talking about a human life, not an apple that when you bite into it and discover that the insides are rotted you throw it away.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Dee.”
“Please explain, because right now I’m thoroughly confused. When you talk about aborting a child it is not only my child but yours.” Her voice was soft, almost conciliatory. “I love you, Spencer. I want your children and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But we can’t continue living the way we have. We have to make time for each other.”
Lowering his head, Spencer buried his face in the sweet-smelling twists. “You’re right, Dee. Starting tomorrow I’m going to meet with some of the associates and have them handle the cases that don’t require my immediate supervision.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I’m not promising anything. I said I’m going to try and lighten my caseload.”
“Thank you for meeting me halfway.”
Deanna didn’t want to tell Spencer that there were a few events she’d turned down because they were either on the West Coast or out of the country. The ones in California would require that she spend more than a week with her client to plan the event, then return several times to make certain all the vendors were on board. The ones in the Caribbean were more convenient because they were in the same time zone and she could hop a flight at a moment’s notice.
She’d made sacrifices to preserve her marriage, while her husband thought nothing of spending days at his office or in a hotel when working on a case. The one time she’d mentioned that she was going to stop by the hotel to surprise Spencer he had accused her of not trusting him. What he didn’t know was that she did trust him, because it was something they’d talked about before exchanging vows. Both had promised that if they found someone else they wouldn’t sneak around but be forthcoming. Spencer trusted her and she trusted him.
Spencer brushed his mouth over Deanna’s. “I need you to set the table and uncork the wine. As soon as I grill the steak and chicken we can eat.”
It had become a running joke between them that although Spencer could cook he was all thumbs when it came to uncorking a bottle of wine. When they’d begun dating Deanna didn’t know why he always served wine with a twist-off cap until he finally admitted that most times the cork ended up inside the bottle. Much to her chagrin, she realized they’d seen more of each and had more fun when they were struggling to make ends meet because both had refused to accept handouts from their parents.
Spencer had moved from his studio apartment and into her one-bedroom apartment after they were married. They worked hard and saved like misers before they were able to buy a house in a less-than-desirable D.C. neighborhood. Everything changed when Spencer’s grandmother died and he’d inherited her entire estate, which included more than a dozen apartment buildings in a gentrified Chicago neighborhood. He sold the properties for a sizable profit, bought the house he’d coveted in Alexandria, then invested the balance in tax-free municipal bonds for their children’s education. They had come a long way in eight years, but it was the next eight and many more eights that Deanna looked forward to.
“What do you say we host a little something for our friends?” Spencer said as she finished rearranging the place settings.
Deanna gave him a sidelong glance, wondering what had prompted that suggestion. “When?”
“Sometime next month.”
“Remember, we have the Red Cross function the beginning of March,” she reminded him.
“Then let’s make it the end of March or the beginning of April. Hopefully the weather will be warmer by that time.”
Deanna suddenly warmed to the idea. It had been too long since they’d entertained as a couple. “How many people do you want to invite?”
Spencer cocked his head at an angle. “No more than twenty.”
“Buffet or sit-down?”
“That depends on you, Dee. If it’s formal, then sit-down. Otherwise I’m not opposed to buffet-style.”
“Buffet is more casual and relaxed.”
Spencer smiled. “Then buffet it is. Friday or Saturday?”
“Let me get my BlackBerry and I’ll let you know what I have available in April.” Deanna retrieved her cell phone from her handbag and scrolled through her calendar. “All of my Saturdays are booked, but I have the second and fourth Fridays free. Which one is better for you?”
Spencer lifted his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Give me one,” Deanna insisted.
“The second Friday.”
“Okay. You’ll have to let me know who you want to invite before I make up the invitations. We can have happy hour from five to seven and a buffet dinner starting at eight. That will allow time for those who want to go home and change.”
“Who are you going to get to cater it?” Spencer asked.
Deanna chewed her lip. “I’m not certain. It’s a toss-up between Jimmy Snell and Dominique Lambert.” She had a listing of caterers and restaurants she used exclusively, but had her favorites. The two she’d mentioned were at the top of her list of favorites.
“Are you going to invite your sister and brother?”
“I will if they can get babysitters, otherwise they’ll probably decline.” Deanna’s sister and brother had six children between them—all under the age of ten.
“Knowing your sister, she’ll probably bring her kids with her.”
Deanna rolled her eyes at her husband. “Not to a grown-folks gathering.”
“Well, she did when we first moved here.”
“I know you don’t like my sister—”
“Did I say I didn’t like your sister, Deanna?”
“You don’t have to say it, Spencer. You don’t like her because she called you pompous.”
“That’s not all she called me,” he countered.
“What did she call you?”
“Something I will not repeat.”
“I’ll admit Neva has a sharp tongue, but—”
“Don’t try and defend her, Dee. She is who she is and I’m willing to accept that. Just tell her that I’m not going to tolerate her disrespecting me in my home.”
“Can we please drop the subject and enjoy our time together without talking about other folks?”
Spencer’s lids came down as he stared at Deanna. He knew she hated confrontation, but confrontation and debate came as easily to him as breathing. It was how he earned his living. “Okay, baby.”
Minutes later the kitchen was filled with the aroma of grilling meat, and he turned on the commercial exhaust that quickly got rid of the smell. Spencer knew Deanna was right about their not spending enough time together, but what he couldn’t tell her was that it wasn’t just work that kept him at the office. It was another distraction.
The chilled rosé was the perfect complement to the grilled steak and chicken with rice pilaf and a Greek salad with cherry tomatoes. Deanna drank two glasses of wine to offset the piquant taste of the spicy peanut sauce. Her eyelids were drooping when Spencer suggested she go to bed while he clean up the kitchen. She went upsta
irs, brushed her teeth, got into bed and within minutes was asleep.
Spencer waited twenty minutes after Deanna left the kitchen to tap several buttons on his cell. His call was answered after the second ring. “What are you doing?” he whispered into the mouthpiece.
“I’ve been waiting for you to call me.”
“I couldn’t call before.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s in bed.”
“Are you going to make love to her, Spence?”
A rush of blood darkened Spencer’s face, concealing the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. “I told you before that what goes on between me and my wife is none of your business.”
“It is my business, Spence, when you tell me you love me. Is it really possible for you to love two women?”
“Yes, it is. I didn’t call you to talk about love, but to ask if you can meet me tomorrow.”
There was a moment of silence. “Where?”
“I’ll pick you up at Union Station.”
“At what time?”
“Make it ten. That way we can spend most of the day together. I promised Dee that I would take her out to dinner,” Spencer lied smoothly.
There came another beat before the feminine voice said, “Okay.”
Spencer ended the call with the tap of a key. It wasn’t easy living a double life, but there was something about Jenah he couldn’t resist. She was like a narcotic. Sleeping with her was addictive.
Marisol Rivera-McDonald
Chapter Three
“Are you certain this fabric is good for the settee?”
Marisol Rivera-McDonald gave the nervous woman a reassuring smile. “I am very certain, Mrs. Wardlaw. What you want is much too heavy for the settee’s frame.”
The widowed socialite stroked the gaudy brooch pinned to the lapel of her Chanel suit jacket. Marisol wanted to tell the woman that the suit alone spoke volumes. The proceeds from the sale of the ruby brooch and the enormous diamond solitaire on her left hand could feed a family of four for months—if they were conservative food shoppers.
Capital Wives Page 3
