Admission of Love

by Niobia Bryant

  Woods Modeling Agency and Ashanti Cosmetics had collaborated on this mega-event have a final farewell to the beauty who had remained firm in her decision to retire, a decision that many questioned the reasons for. A suite of rooms at the Plaza Hotel were at her disposal to prepare for the evening. The outer rooms were filled racks of designer original dresses on loan from some of the hottest names in fashion, all of whom wanted her to be seen in their creation for her last formal appearance. A representative from Harry Winston Jewelers, along with four burly security guards, had a selection of diamond jewelry for her to choose to wear with whatever gown she selected, also on loan. Hair and makeup stylists were primed to accentuate her natural beauty.

  All were outside the door, waiting to help her celebrate her farewell to a highly successful career. They, like many others, wondered why the beauty would retire now when she was still at the height of her profession. They also wondered what her plans for the future were, a question that Chloe had avidly dodged in the press.

  Downstairs the ballroom was surely bustling with activity as last-minute preparations were made. This would be her last big who hooray, and Chloe would admit, only to herself, that she was a little melancholy. But she was also sure that retiring was what she wanted. Her plans for the future were already in motion and she was anxious to start the new chapter in her life.

  Chloe stepped out of the elevated tub, engulfing her glistening wet body in a plush embroidered bath towel. She descended the steps leading from the platform and crossed the carpeted floor, flinging open both the double doors. The activity in the outer room halted as all eyes turned toward her. With a warm smile characteristic of her fun-loving personality, she said, “Make me beautiful.”

  “God beat us to it,” someone yelled out and they all agreed.

  Chloe blushed like a schoolgirl. “Y’all full of it.”

  ∞

  “Chloe, you chose my dress. How wise of you!”

  She turned to find Jeffrey appraising her with a critical eye. She smiled and struck a dramatic pose. “How do I look, Jeffie?”

  He was amazed, as he was each time he saw her, that she was so beautiful and graceful. She truly would be a loss to the fashion industry. “You look fabulous as always, Chloe.”

  Jeffrey had designed the dress with her in mind and it suited the mocha-skinned beauty perfectly. The cut of the slip dress was simple with slender spaghetti straps and a straight, square neckline. The fall colors were not true to the current hot summer weather, but the rich gold, rust and deep browns perfectly offset her chocolate skin and the rich auburn color of her shoulder-length tresses. She brought the sequined creation to life and he was truly honored that she chose to wear it.

  As she turned once again for his approval, he decided he would give her the dress, which could retail for six thousand dollars. No other woman could do it justice.

  They posed for several publicity shots before Jeffrey moved on, eventually disappearing from Chloe’s sight into the crowd with a dramatic twirl. She promised herself to keep in contact with him, because she would miss him too much to do otherwise.

  Chloe was exhausted. The dancing all night with barely any reprieve, posing for pictures, and talking to all the celebrities on hand to wish her well was catching up with her. Of course there were the hordes of celebrity reporters hounding her. They all asked much of the same questions she had heard over the past six months since her imminent retire was announced.

  She begged off another dance with a well-known action adventure star and moved through the crowd toward the table of honor at the front of the room. With a smile she waved to Anika, elegant in a red halter dress, dancing with Wesley Snipes with an I-told-you-so expression on her face.

  Chloe didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that her face was flushed and damp with perspiration. She was contemplating going to the bathroom to touch up her makeup when the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end alerting her that someone was behind her. Turning in her seat, Chloe found her ex-boyfriend, Calvin Ingram, still tall and handsome, so able to arouse her, and still able to hurt her. She hated the sudden ache in her belly because it meant that even after three years he still could get to her.

  Damn!

  “Can I finally get you to myself?”

  Chloe rolled her eyes heavenward. His words was silky smooth and able to lull away the defenses she put up… if she let him. “Hello Calvin. . . .good to see you.”

  What a lie. He was the last man she wanted to see. Memories of his betrayal was still fresh in her mind and heart. She had loved this handsome man standing before her and the world she had shared with him crumbled the day she came home early from a photo shoot and found him in bed with another woman. Love had quickly turned to hate and then to pity, because he had no concept of fidelity.

  A vision of the day flashed in front of her. Long, slender light-skinned legs wrapped around his waist. His strong, hard buttocks being grasped tightly by her hands as he wildly stroked inside the woman beneath him.

  Pain shot through her and tears filled her eyes. Damn… it still hurts!

  Chloe forced a tight smile into her face. “How’s Yvette?”

  She received little pleasure from the uncomfortable look that showed on his face as she mentioned the name of the woman she caught him with. Why can’t he leave me alone?

  His eyes dropped as he sat down in the chair next to her. The familiar scent of his spicy cologne wafted past her nostrils and for a second she let herself get lost in the “good times” they once shared.

  Five years ago during an Ebony cover photo shoot, Chloe had spotted a man from across the room. The attraction was instantaneous and she couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. He was, to her, the perfect male specimen: tall, bronze, with bright eyes and even brighter smile, straight teeth and dark chocolate skin that gleamed.

  He was introduced to her as Calvin Ingram, the freelance writer who would be conducting the interview. As she shook his hand, her eyes has summed up the slender, athletic build and his towering height of six feet and five inches. She was truly interested in the man.

  The interview led to a year of exclusive dating and then a nearly two-year-long courtship that ended abruptly on January the fifteenth.

  Damn, three years later and I can still remember the date, she thought as she fidgeted nervously under his intense gaze.

  “Chloe, you’re still as beautiful as ever. I’ve missed you, Cat.”

  She winced as he reverted to his pet name for her, referring to her oddly shaped eyes. “Look Calvin. What do you want from me? We’ve exchanged polite pleasantries; why don’t we continue on our separate paths.”

  He reached for her hand resting lightly on the table, but she snatched it away. “Look Cat —”

  “Chloe,” she stated firmly. “My name is not Cat.”

  “All right . . . Chloe. I haven’t seen or spoken to you since that night. You’ve done so well at avoiding all my advances until finally I stopped trying. You never gave me the chance to explain —”

  “Explain what, Calvin?” she hissed. Her eyes glistened with anger as she stared him down, her usually beautiful mouth now a thin line. “Explain why you were banging the hell out of Yvette in the bed we shared together? Explain why I heard the man I thought loved me, telling another woman ‘I love you’ and ‘You’re the best piece of —’”

  “Chloe.” He cut her words off before she could finish. “Now is not the time nor the place.”

  She laughed bitterly and quelled the desire to slap his handsome and arrogant face. “You’re right. Now is not the time nor the place. I don’t think there will ever be that time or police. Just leave me the hell alone! Understand?”

  Chloe stood abruptly from the chair, almost knocking it to the floor. She stormed away from him, not waiting for an answer to the question and thus out of earshot as he said, “I will get you back, Cat. I swear it.”

  Chloe hated the way that seeing Calvin disturbed her. His sudden appearance in
to her life should’ve meant nothing to her, but here she was clearly shaking.

  What the hell is he doing here anyway?

  She quickly crossed the room, putting space between herself and him. Olivia walked up to her dressed in a sharp black Donna Karan tuxedo styled suit and diamond jewelry. “Chloe… are you okay? It’s time to make your speech.”

  A vision of Calvin’s face flashed in her mind and Chloe visibly winced. Stay cool, Chloe, she told herself. Remember what Mama always said. One fool don’t stop no show and life does go on.

  She took a deep breath to clear her head and gave Olivia her million-dollar smile: coy, alive, innocent yet sexy, and false. “I’m fine.”

  “What are you going to do with yourself?” Olivia asked, finally resigned to the fact that her jewel was lost.

  Chloe thought of the tales her mother told and she was called instantly. She envisioned miles and miles of flowers, fresh air, peace and quiet, with only the sun and the moon as her immediate neighbors. “I’m going home.”

  Chapter Two

  Holtsville, South Carolina (one year later)

  The early morning was quiet and the sun was not set to rise for another thirty minutes at six A.M. Devon Jamison stepped down off the sprawling circular porch of the house and crossed the short distance to the renovated barn that now housed the offices for Jamison Contractors Inc. He entered the one-level wooden structure and began the morning ritual of turning on all the fluorescent track lights, pouring ground beans in the coffeemaker and checking the answering machine for any messages left after business hours.

  Jamison Contractors was the pride and joy of Devon and his identical twin brother Deshawn. They built solid homes, and their reputation was one of excellence, even beyond South Carolina. Who knew that what they did as chores for their father growing up would become their craft?

  They were skilled at their work and had brought growth to the small carpentry company their father had operated. Now their jobs ranged from building and installing woodwork and cabinets to room additions and homebuilding. The combination of their architectural degrees from North Carolina State and the natural skilled acquired from their father made them the best at what they did. He knew his parents were proud of their sons’ work and smiled down at them from where they surely rested in heaven together.

  Devon glanced over at the large wood-framed photograph of his parents that hung on the wall of the office. God, he missed them, something he had never said aloud but felt deeply just same. Their deaths had affected him more than he ever let on. First he lost his father to prostate cancer and then just a few short years later his mother joined the man she loved in death as she succumbed to a stroke. It had been more than twelve years and he didn’t know if he would ever be totally numb to the pain.

  His father had passed on but had left behind a legacy of hard work. Like his father had, he enjoyed the physical labor. Both he and his brother were in the position financially to sit back and let their crew do all the manual work, but they both threw themselves into every aspect of building a solid, quality home for their clients.

  Nothing felt better to him than the sun beating down on his bared back as he hammered, or the rough feel of the calluses on his hands. He looked down at them with pride. The hands of a man who love rugged labor. They didn’t look pretty but they were strong and skilled.

  Besides, no woman had ever complained when he caressed the soft contours of their body. Well, no woman except Elissa. But Elissa was so … different.

  A deep scowl set on his handsome, stern face as he thought of his ex-girlfriend. He’d met her his senior year in college. The pretty, feminine traits she’d possessed had appealed to him. She was small and petite with an air about her that begged a man to take care of her. He had been more than willing to do so.

  Eventually, though, her insistence on taking two or more hours to dress and her refusal to be kissed properly, because she feared her perfectly applied makeup would be altered, had become a nuisance to him. How could he love a woman who love to look at her own reflection instead of looking at him?

  Well, he couldn’t. Although in the beginning of their two-year-long relationship he honestly believed he loved her, a bitter final argument over her vanity had finally split them apart.

  She had been a small-town girl with big city dreams and ideals. Hardly the woman for him, a simple down-home man who needed and wanted nothing less than a down-home girl in his life. Not that he was ready to settle down and wed, but he knew that when he did lose his heart to another woman she would meet his criteria. She had to or they wouldn’t last forever. The last thing he needed in his life was another prima donna. That was one mistake he would never make again.

  He wondered briefly how Elissa was. Probably married to some well-to-do white-collar man that allowed her to be as prissy and self-indulgent as she wanted to be. Well, it didn’t matter where she was as long as she was away from him. She had been his first big mistake in love and he hoped she would be the last.

  Pushing all thoughts of the woman in his past aside, Devon focused his attention on the blueprints sprawled on the drafting table before him. It was their latest project: a sprawling, one-level structure for Chloe Bolton.

  About nine months ago, he and Deshawn had come into the office to find a message on the answering machine from an attorney by the name of Anthony Barnett. He had said he represented Chloe Bolton and asked if someone could call him back as soon as possible at the number he gave.

  They both had been more than confused by the message. Of course they knew who Chloe Bolton was. Who didn’t? But the million-dollar question was: What could the supermodel need from them?

  They knew she was also the grandchild of Tessa and Odis Bolton, a wonderfully loving couple who had lived in Holtsville all their lives until their untimely deaths. The twins had immediately figured that whatever it was that she wanted, it had to do with the twelve acres of land her family owned. Land that was just a half mile from Devon and his families land.

  The only way to get to the truth was to get it straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Or at least the horse’s attorney’s mouth. The day after they received the message from Mr. Barnett, an eager Deshawn had returned the call.

  It seemed the beautiful supermodel wanted to build a home on the land that she inherited from her deceased mother. An award-winning architect from New York had already been contracted to design the house to the model’s specifications. Her lawyer, Anthony Barnett, was now offering them the opportunity to build the house. The terms offered by him, who served as her liaison, had been very tempting and generous, so of course Deshawn had accepted the deal on his brother’s and his behalf.

  Two months ago, construction of the uniquely designed house began and today, as he had almost every day since that first call from her attorney, Devon wondered what the jet-setting model could possibly want in Holtsville, South Carolina. The little town would definitely be considered “roughing it”.

  The population of Holtsville was well under a thousand, with just five police officers and even fewer city officials. Anyone who wanted to see a movie had to drive the twenty-five minutes to nearby Walterboro, and even that movie house never showed movies on the day of their nationwide opening. It was sometimes weeks or more to see the new releases. No major department store or boutiques were located in the small town, and the lone eating establishment was Donnie’s Diner, which wasn’t saying much. The only nightlife was a splattering of hastily opened clubs that could barely hold more than fifty people at one time. A good ride to nearby Charleston had to supply the more upscale restaurants, shopping malls and other forms of entertainment for the townspeople. Holtsville, like many other small towns, was also ripe and salivating for gossip. Word of someone having an affair, or being involved in a fight, or going broke or being injured or anything juicy spread through the town like a brush fire. What these people could accomplish with word of mouth was amazing. Not always accurate, but amazing nonetheless.

>   He knew that she had not step foot in the small town of her mother’s birth since her grandparents’ death when she was a toddler. He had been a child himself and didn’t remember her, just like mostly everyone didn’t, but that didn’t stop most of the folks from claiming her as their hometown celebrity. “Chloe Bolton’s from Holtsville, you know,” was their claim to fame. They had all followed her career because they knew she was the grandchild of the late Boltons, Tessa and Odis. Everyone was talking about the celebrity moving “back home,” as they put it. Ever since the story leaked out about her plans for building a home there, her name stayed in the local newspapers ripe with speculation on her plans.

  Like everyone, Devon had read the rumors about her relationships with fellow celebrities, supposed suicide attempts, drug overdoses, outrageous spending of her money and, recently, outlandish reasons for her retirement last year. Those gossip rags that his best friend and secretary, Alicia, always brought to work with her were filled with all types of tales about the beauty.

  His grandmother Nana Lil, who had been close to both Tessa and Odis, thought it hard to believe that anyone with their blood flowing through them could turn out as bad as the papers proclaimed. She also spoke well of her friends level-headed and kind-natured daughter Adell, whom she was sure could never raise a drug-abusing and promiscuous child. Whenever his grandmother would tout Chloe’s impeccable family ties, Devon would just think to himself, You can lead a horse to water, but you sure can’t make it drink! Perhaps even with the blood of honorable people in her and being raised by a good woman, Chloe Bolton had gone to pot anyway. He did know you couldn’t believe everything you read in the press, and Deshawn, a loyal fan of Chloe Bolton, didn’t believe any of it.

  He had to admit, as he focused attention on the blueprints before him, that although the house was grand compared to many of the small, centuries-old homes in the area, it was modest compared to what he had assumed she would want. He had been more than surprised when Barnett had arrived for their first meeting, plans in hand.