A Kiss of a Different Color

by Bettye Griffin

  “It’s nice to see you again, Miranda,” Monthani Sanya replied in her well-modulated tone with the faintest hint of an accent. “Actually, Henry and Kathy had invited me to dinner,” she said.

  Miranda remembered the Tais from the Halloween party.

  “But Kathy’s mother became ill,” Monthani continued, “and they decided to drive out to Seattle at the last minute with their kids to visit with her over the holiday, so here I am.” She beamed as Lance wandered into the room. I see you met my son.”

  Miranda’s mouth dropped open. She stared at Lance, noting his almond-shaped eyes and unmistakable African-American coloring as he munched on a celery stick. Monthani had slept with a black man? It was incredible. No, more than that. It was downright astonishing. Miranda simply couldn’t imagine it. Maybe if Monthani’s demeanor was more natural and less self-important, but she just seemed too high and mighty. “Your…son?”

  Monthani seemed amused at her obvious surprise. “Yes, for thirty-six years. Lance,” she chided. “Why didn’t you tell Miranda who you were?”

  He smiled at Miranda. “I was blinded by her beauty.”

  She grinned. It was a corny line, sure, but flattering nonetheless. “So you’re just visiting, correct? Your mother mentioned something about your living…” she realized she didn’t remember the exact location. “Somewhere else,” she concluded lamely.

  “Denver.” He moved closer to where she stood. “But I’ll be here until next Tuesday. Maybe you and I can get together for a meal and some nice conversation while I’m here.”

  The mix of African and Asian bloodlines looked good on him, Miranda thought. Lance Walker was a good-looking man. He stood a few inches shorter than Jon—as did most people—but was still over six feet. With Monthani being no more than five feet two, that trait had obviously been inherited from his father, along with his most noticeable features. Thirty-six years ago Monthani would have had to have been very young. She’d either been a totally different person then, or she’d gone for a young Colin Powell type…and even Colin Powell himself hadn’t likely possessed the noble bearing he demonstrated in middle age when still a young man in his twenties.

  “Maybe brunch at Peacock Alley Saturday?” Lance suggested.

  He was a fast worker, Miranda thought. Then she noticed Monthani glowing like a soft light bulb.

  Suddenly she knew why Monthani had made it a point to talk to her at the Halloween party. She wanted to set her up with her son, the one who had such a good job, the one who she wanted to get married and give her grandchildren.

  His Asian/African-American background aside, Lance’s coloring meant he was perceived by the public as a black man. Monthani had probably raised him to think of himself that way, and almost certainly his father had as well.

  “Why don’t I get back to you on that?” She glanced about, noticing that neither Jon nor Brian were in the kitchen. “Where are the fellas, Jae?”

  “In the garage, probably emptying out all that oil from the turkey fryer so I can wash it.”

  Jon stared open-mouthed at Brian. “He’s her son? What is this, a joke?”

  “No joke, Jon. Hey, I was surprised, too. But she was pretty young at the time. Monthani’s in her fifties, and Lance is about our age, so she had to be.”

  “A college romance, probably,” Jon mused.

  “Apparently, they’ve been divorced for years. But in answer to your question, no, I’m not trying to set Miranda up with Lance. I’m not blind, man. I can see that current running between the two of you, and so can Jae. Trust me, any matchmaking going on is Monthani’s idea. They were coming over here for dessert, anyway, her plus Henry and Kathy. But then the Tais decided to make the drive to Seattle when Kathy’s mother got sick, so Jae invited Monthani to have dinner with us.”

  Jon stuck his fists in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m, uh, sorry for jumping on you the way I did, Brian.”

  “Not a problem. I know it’s because you want Miranda for yourself. That rule against dating coworkers at your job really has you by the balls, doesn’t it?”

  Jon sighed. “You have no idea.”

  Chapter 18

  Jon found his gaze constantly circling the room. Miranda told him just last night at the bowling alley that she was planning on attending tonight’s corporate Christmas party, held in the banquet room of a local golf club. He hoped she hadn’t changed her mind.

  Over a month had passed since their night of passion in Bottineau, but somehow he knew she hadn’t forgotten about it any more than he had. If he concentrated he could still feel her body thrashing against his…could still hear her choked voice crying out his name, feel her long, silky legs wrapped around his back. Maybe Miranda could convince herself into believing that not talking about it was synonymous with pretending it didn’t happen, but he knew better.

  In the interim, he looked forward to Saturday mornings, which he spent with Miranda skiing down the mountain. As he predicted, in the past weeks she’d become more sure of herself and better able to control her speed on the skis. He expected she would be ready for the intermediate slopes before the end of the season.

  After spending three or four hours on the slopes they always went somewhere for a late breakfast or for lunch. Several times Jon wanted to ask her back to his house and cook for her, but he knew she would refuse. Miranda felt safe with in public, with other people around. They had virtually no body contact, and he knew that if she ever came to his home again he would do his damndest to get her in bed. In due time it would happen, of that he was certain.

  He was risking a hell of a lot. Bismarck could be a lonely place in the winter, something he was already learning firsthand. He kept busy, going out for runs with Stormy, going to the gym…but none of the women he encountered even tempted him. He only wanted one woman, a woman he’d made love to one memorable night and whom he longed to hold in his arms again.

  Jon noted the irony of never before having spent so much time in the company of any female that didn’t involve sex. He’d never had a female friend before, and that was what Miranda had become to him. In her he’d found someone who shared his interests and was willing to take on new things he enjoyed, like skiing. It occurred to him that there was probably a direct correlation between the failure of all his previous relationships and the lack of common interests. Who would believe that those dance lessons he’d signed up for to give him something to do on Tuesday nights would end up bringing such enrichment to his life?

  As much as Jon enjoyed Miranda’s companionship, he wanted much more than mere friendship from her, and his desire for her infused him day and night…but was especially prevalent at night.

  He was seated with other members of mid-level management, their spouses, plus Kate Conradt, the VP they all reported to, when he looked up and saw her. In a room filled with loveliness Miranda was easily the most striking woman present. She wore a fitted beige jacket decorated with tan, rust, and a deep orange appliqués and a flared tan skirt that came to just above her knees. A sheer beige scarf was discreetly tucked into her blazer to cover her cleavage, telling him she wore no blouse under it. Her thick hair was pinned into a flawless French roll, parted on the side and brushed down over part of her forehead on one side for a softer look.

  Jon wished he could get up and greet her personally, but he didn’t want to call attention to himself…or to her. Best that he stay put. There would be plenty of time for mingling after dinner.

  And dancing.

  He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms.

  When the speeches began after dinner he went over to the cash bar in the far corner of the room and chatted with some of his coworkers there. As he sipped his drink he watched Miranda, who sat with her back to him at a table with a group of people he didn’t recognize, probably others from the rehabilitation division. He willed her to turn around, but only Jae and Brian stopping by her table made that happen. Miranda got up and fell into step with them. Jon realized they were headed here to
the bar and moved forward to greet them.

  He noticed how many of the men she passed turned to look at her as she passed. With her tall, willowy figure, great legs, and proud carriage, she certainly rated a second glance. He couldn’t deny that her darker complexion made her stand out in a room that was ninety-eight percent occupied by Caucasians.

  As he got closer to her, he noticed that her makeup tonight was a little more pronounced. Her eyes were outlined with a dark pencil, unusual for her. He wanted so much to go to her, take her hands in his, kiss her cheek and tell her how exquisite she looked, but he couldn’t risk anyone gossiping about them.

  He had to wait until he reached her. “You look lovely tonight, Legs,” he said softly, so only she could hear.

  “Thank you, Jon.”

  “What’re you drinking?”

  “Just wine.”

  He gave the order to the bartender. “I find myself looking forward to the Snowball at the dance studio next week, although I can’t imagine you looking any more beautiful than you do right now.”

  Her eyes darted from left to right. “Jon,” she said in a warning tone.”

  “All right, I’ll behave. But you and I are absolutely going to dance tonight.”

  Ralph Holm’s lower lip curled as he eyed his boss. He had been supervisor of utilization review for three years, and by all accounts had done a good job…well, most of the time. He’d unfortunately demonstrated some bad judgment a time or two in his handling of the staff, and made a regrettable error in the budget he submitted, but even with that, when the previous director resigned for health reasons he was certain the job would go to him. Instead, Jon Lindbergh waltzed in from Minneapolis and walked off with it, just because he had an MSN and case management certification. Now Ralph had to take orders from him, and if he wanted to keep his job he had to pretend to like it.

  Well, he hated it. All the fuss Lindbergh’s arrival had caused among his female coworkers rankled him as well. So what, the guy was handsome in a cheesy sort of way. All the women in the office swooned over him like he was some rock star or actor. Ralph’s ex-wife, who’d left him eighteen months before, would probably go for him…at least she would if she weren’t living with that man she’d been seeing behind his back. Ralph kept hoping Lindbergh would do something to fall flat on his face.

  He sullenly watched as Jon danced with that Chinese girl, or whatever she was, from accounting. She seemed to be almost as clunky on her feet as Ralph himself on those rare occasions he took to the dance floor, but that damn Lindbergh moved like he thought he was Patrick Swayze reincarnated. All the girls were clamoring to dance with him—Ralph didn’t think he’d sat out a single number since they opened up the floor to dancing—and there didn’t seem to be a step he didn’t know. He’d done the tango with the VP he reported to, a woman old enough to be his mother known for being a real hard-nose, who’d giggled through the dance like a schoolgirl.

  Ralph entertained the thought of Lindbergh becoming embroiled in a messy affair with a married woman, like that Chinese girl he was dancing with now. That would be a direct violation of company policy, which insisted on moral behavior.

  As pleasing an idea as Ralph found that, he knew it was as unlikely as a snowstorm in July, a doubtful scenario even here in Bismarck. Married or engaged employees were invited to bring their spouses and intendeds, and that accountant’s husband—a white guy, he noticed—was right there, standing at the bar with some black chick he’d never seen before. A tall drink of water, she was probably a member of the home care nursing or rehab staff, and she and the IT girl were the only nonwhite employees present…probably the only nonwhites working for the company.

  Okay, so there was no affair, but maybe Lindbergh would do something else ruinous, like drink too much and get rowdy. Ralph wished he had a mind-altering substance he could somehow slip into his drink. That was a laugh—he wouldn’t even know where to get anything like that. But he would watch Lindbergh carefully…maybe if he got lucky, Lindbergh might reveal some unsavory aspect of his personality that would reflect badly on him.

  Ralph could only hope.

  Jon made sure he did plenty of dancing with the other women at his table before he approached Miranda, so no one would think it out of the ordinary when he danced with her. He got in the obligatory dance with his boss, Kate. When the tango music first sounded he made a general invitation to the women at the table, and she was the one who accepted. Jon received a pleasant surprise when she proved to be quite good at it. He sat out a number to rest his feet, accepted compliments on his dance skills and briefly provided his family history with dance. When the deejay spun a slow number, the Michael Buble cover of Put Your Head on My Shoulder, a song one of the men’s wives at his table pronounced as “dreamy” as they went off to dance, he rose and sought out Miranda, who after dancing with a male coworker had taken over a vacant chair at Jae and Brian’s table. By now, with dessert and coffee having been served, many people had moved from their assigned seating to chat with friends at other tables.

  She hesitated, but he insisted, and Brian and Jae also headed for the dance floor.

  “Jon, I wish you hadn’t chose something so…romantic,” she said when they had begun moving to the music, surrounded by other dancers. “What will people think?”

  “They probably won’t even notice.” He doubted she would swallow that, and if he could see her face she’d probably roll her eyes at him.

  Her next words didn’t surprise him. “I think you and I both know better. I stand out like a glass of chocolate milk surrounded by plain.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Well, if that didn’t make you feel any better, here’s something that will. Did you notice that Jae and Brian got up to dance right after you did? Look at them, rocking like two caged lovebirds. I know they didn’t want to sit this one out, but they would have before they left you alone at the table. Now that you’re dancing, so can they. So you did a good deed by dancing with me.”

  “All right, all right. You got me.”

  If only, he thought. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and allowed himself to breathe in the pomegranate scent of her hair. Jon didn’t believe in public displays of affection, such as holding his dance partners too snugly, but he enjoyed subtle ways of enjoying feminine companions under everyone’s noses.

  The deejay skillfully blended into a song with a mambo beat. “Hey, this is great practice for us,” Jon said.

  “Are you crazy?” Miranda hissed. “We can’t!”

  “Sure we can. We can use the practice for the Snowball next weekend.” The dance studio was sponsoring a formal Christmas dance, and the two of them had already agreed to attend. “This will probably be the only chance we’ll get,” he added. “I’m pretty sure they’re not going to play any waltzes here tonight.” He held firm to her shoulder, and she had no choice but to move her feet to the catchy rhythm. Forcibly pulling away from him would only draw unwanted attention.

  The couples who’d been dancing left the floor at the change of tempo, which opened up more room. Only one other couple tried to tackle the difficult rhythm, and Miranda soon became aware that everyone was watching the four of them, with particular interest in her and Jon.

  She decided to let them talk and instead threw herself into the one-two-three step combination with her usual ease. The audience faded into the background, and the only thing that mattered was keeping up her steps as she moved her hips from side to side, one second dancing in Jon’s arms and the next pulling away to do a turn and a few steps separately, then back into his arms again, just the way they’d practiced in class.

  The spouse of one of Kate’s staff members leaned forward. “Great tango, Kate!”

  “Oh, thank you,” she replied as she sat down, acknowledging the nods of agreement from others still seated at the table. She’d just made a trip to the bar, where she’d spent nearly thirty minutes chatting with coworkers and being introduced to their spouses.

  “I had no idea
you and Jon were such good dancers,” someone else added.

  “It’s been ages since I did the tango,” Kate replied. “I’m not nearly as good as I used to be. Jon’s the one who’s the fabulous dancer. He made me look good.”

  “He is pretty firm on his feet. Look at him now.”

  They all looked over at the dance floor, where Jon was dancing a mambo with a pretty young woman, the only African-American present.

  “Who’s that he’s dancing with?” someone asked. “She’s good, too.”

  A bell went off in Kate’s head. Hadn’t she seen this girl somewhere before?

  “I don’t know. Probably someone from off site. I’ve never seen her before.”

  Off site. The memory rushed back at Kate. She’d had a meeting out at rehab, and she couldn’t help noticing the attractive African-American woman in scrubs she passed in the hall, the ID badge around her neck confirming that she was an employee. As quickly as she’d seen her, she’d forgotten about her.