Best Kept Secrets

by Rochelle Alers

  “What else do you want to know?”

  “Do you still love me?”

  His muscles tensed, then relaxed. “Why are you asking me that?”

  “I just need to know, Sammy.” She needed to know because during their stay in Tallahassee he hadn’t touched her.

  His fingers caressed a firm breast under her silk nightgown. “Yes, darling. I love you.”

  M.J.’s hand trailed down his chest to his groin. “Show me, then.”

  His penis hardened quickly as she lifted the hem of her nightgown and spread her legs. They sighed in unison as flesh met flesh; there was only the sound of their labored breathing joining the howl of the wind, the lashing rain and the rush of water against the hull of the ship as it rode out the storm.

  M.J. forgot her former annoyance with her husband for keeping secrets as she lost herself in the rising passion threatening to tear her asunder.

  Samuel quickened his thrusts as he forgot the night in Puerto Limon wherein drunkenness had rendered him voluntarily insane. Without warning, pleasure, pure and explosive, hurtled him to a place that left him hot and cold as he surrendered to the exquisite ecstasy that bound him to the woman in whose scented embrace he wanted to lie until he breathed his last breath.

  All of Havana’s social elite turned out for the return of Jose Luis Diaz’s daughter and her American husband to the country of her birth. Those who had known Carlotta Diaz remarked how much Marguerite-Josefina looked like her at the same age.

  Samuel sat under the shade of an acacia tree, watching his wife greet friends and relatives who’d attended their wedding. Her dimpled smile, her tinkling laugh and the way she seemingly floated about Gloria’s garden were some things he hadn’t seen since before they were married. She’d missed Cuba.

  “She looks happy, Samuel.”

  Glancing around, he nodded to his father-in-law. “She is happy, Jose Luis.”

  The older man sat on a nearby chair, crossing one leg over the other. “And for that I must thank you, my son.”

  Samuel’s gaze narrowed. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

  Jose Luis brought his hands together in a prayerful gesture. “You sound so serious.”

  “That is because I am when it comes to my wife.”

  He hadn’t lied to Jose Luis. He did not realize how much he’d come to love M.J. until they were reunited after his last Costa Rican trip. He hadn’t planned to take her with him to Tallahassee or stay the two weeks, but he was glad he did. She’d charmed his mother in a way Eugenia and Annie-Mae were unable to.

  His lids lowered as he stared at her laughing at something Ivonne whispered close to her ear. Samuel smiled as if he, too, were privy to their conversation.

  What was there about M.J. that made him want to risk all he had to keep her? And it wasn’t the first time the question had nagged at him, and the answer was always the same: everything.

  “Are you not feeling well, Samuel?”

  Jose Luis’s query broke into his thoughts. “I’m quite well, thank you. Why do you ask?”

  “You haven’t eaten anything.”

  Samuel smiled. “I’ll eat something later.”

  “You said you wanted to talk to me about a business arrangement.”

  “I do.”

  “Talk, Samuel.”

  He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Here?” Samuel expected his father-in-law to conduct business indoors, not in a garden.

  Jose Luis waved a hand. “Why not? There is no one close enough to overhear us.”

  Leaning over the small table separating them, Samuel told him about his trip to Costa Rica and his meeting with the representatives of the United Fruit Company. Jose Luis’s eyes widened when he told of their interest in his cigars.

  “What is it you want, Samuel?”

  “I want to purchase cigars from you and export them under a company I intend to set up as ColeDiz International, Limited.”

  Jose Luis ran a hand over his mane of white hair. “I am committed to selling all of my cigars to one company.”

  “Is it possible to hold out a small amount for your daughter’s husband?” Samuel asked in a quiet tone. “These can be sold under another brand name. I’ll leave it up to you to come up with a name that exemplifies its reputation as the finest quality Cuban tobacco leaf.”

  A knowing smile parted Jose Luis’s lips as he shook his head. “You have really thought this out, have you not?”

  Samuel nodded. “I think better on an empty stomach. Let me know if we have an agreement before I faint from hunger.” The expectation of starting up another enterprise had him feeling so anxious that his stomach roiled whenever he attempted to put something into his mouth.

  Jose Luis angled his head, seemingly deep in thought. “I could harvest some under the name of Presidente. Those who smoke the cigars will have to wonder which Cuban president I’m referring to.” He glared at Samuel under lowered eyebrows. “I’ll be ruined if anyone finds out that the cigars come from the same harvest as El Supremo.”

  “Is there someone you can trust with this information?”

  “My factory foreman.”

  “Double his pay to keep his mouth shut.”

  Eyes wide, Jose Luis shook his head. “I cannot afford to do that. The workers are constantly demanding higher salaries even though my profits are lower.”

  “I’ll do it,” Samuel said softly.

  “You will pay him?”

  Samuel nodded. “I’ve learned that everyone has a price. I’ll pay your foreman, buy your Presidente cigars, and in turn sell them to certain individuals in Costa Rica. There’s a lot of money to be made in things that make people believe they’re happier if they have them. Bootleg alcohol, cigars, cigarettes, automobiles, moving pictures and sporting events. They’re the extra little things we tell ourselves we need whereas in reality, if they vanished like a puff of smoke, we as human beings would continue to exist.

  “We only need food, clothes and shelter, Jose Luis,” Samuel continued softly. “So there is going to come a time when all of the so-called items of happiness will mean naught. And just like the price of sugar in 1920 that fell from twenty-two dollars and fifty-one cents a pound in May to five dollars and fifty-one cents in December of the same year, your cigars, which are touted as the finest in all of Cuba, will suffer the same fate, as will those who profit from illegal alcohol sales when the U.S. government repeals the Volstead Act. We have to make our money now because things are changing all over the world as we speak.”

  Jose Luis’s expression was grim. “You are right, Samuel. Unions have workers going out on strikes everywhere, the Communists are now in China, the Fascists and Socialists are fighting each other in Italy, there are trains that run in tunnels under the streets of big cities, and people now take airplanes to travel from one place to another. You turn a knob on a box called a radio and music comes out. The world is moving much too fast for me to keep up with the changes.”

  Closing his eyes, he affected a wistful smile. “I’m going and you are coming, Samuel. The way I used to do business is over.” He opened his eyes, his penetrating gaze fusing with his son-in-law’s. “I will sell you my cigars.”

  Samuel was hard-pressed not to jump up and hug his father-in-law. He inclined his head instead. “Mil gracias, Jose Luis.”

  A hint of a smile touched the corners of Jose Luis’s mouth. “No, Samuel. It is you I must thank. I can now go to my grave knowing that my daughter will be happy and well provided for.”

  Samuel was still sitting under the tree long after Jose Luis left and M.J. came to take his place.

  “Are you okay, Sammy?”

  Reaching out, he ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “Yes, baby.”

  Her fingers circled his wrist. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you want me to bring you a plate?”

  He stood up, pulling her up with him. Lowering his head, he cradled her face between his hands and brushed his mouth over hers. “No, baby
. I don’t want you to wait on me.”

  She moved closer to him. “But here in Cuba it is a wife’s duty to wait on her husband.”

  His gaze lingered on her lush mouth before he smiled. “Okay. But only in Cuba.”

  Rising on tiptoes, M.J. kissed him. “Only in Cuba,” she repeated breathlessly.

  The protective cocoon of love and being loved lingered with M.J. long after she returned to West Palm Beach with her husband. Whereas she’d been overwhelmed with the ongoing activity of interacting with her Tallahassee relatives, it’d been the complete opposite in Cuba.

  Aside from the soiree her aunt had hosted to welcome their return, she and Sammy slept late, took their meals in the garden of her family’s estate, walked together once the intense tropical sun began its descent, and talked about what they wanted for their futures.

  Samuel told her of his dream of building a family empire rivaling those of Rockefeller, Carnegie and J.P. Morgan. This disclosure had rendered her mute, and it wasn’t until two days later that she was able to broach the subject with him, quoting the Bible verse: what profit a man to gain the world only to lose his soul? Much to her surprise, Samuel laughed and countered with: wealth you get by dishonesty will do you no good, but honesty can save your life. His pronouncement was enough to put her mind at ease as to whether he would seek his fortune through fraudulent dealings.

  M.J. halted brushing her hair, meeting the gaze of Samuel in the dressing table mirror. As he leaned against the open door, arms crossed over his chest, a slight smile softened his firm mouth. He wore a suit, which meant he’d planned to go in to the office he’d rented in a new two-story building in West Palm Beach’s colored business area.

  She continued brushing the coal-black strands until they shimmered like satin. “Is there something you want?”

  Samuel didn’t move from his leaning position. “Yes, I do.”

  Shifting on the vanity stool, M.J. stared at him. “What is it, Samuel?”

  “Have you made plans to do anything today?”

  “Not really. Why?” She had planned to work in her garden and try a new recipe Bessie had given her.

  His smile widened. “I’d like for you to come to the office with me.”

  With her eyes wide, her mouth formed a perfect O. “Why, Sammy?” she asked once she recovered her voice.

  Pushing off the door, Samuel closed the distance between them. Cradling her elbow, he eased her to her feet. “Why? I need your help.”

  “You want me to work for you?”

  Throwing back his head, he laughed loudly. “No, baby. I already have a secretary. What I need is your decorating talent.”

  He’d hired a middle-aged woman with exceptional business skills. She was not only articulate, but also proficient in dictation and typing. It had taken two months of interviewing more than twenty applicants until he and Everett agreed that Nora Harris would meet the administrative needs of Cole International, Ltd.

  A slight frown creased her smooth forehead. “You want me to make your office pretty for you?”

  It was Samuel’s turn to frown. “Not pretty, M.J. I want it elegant and tasteful like our home, but with a businesslike ambiance.”

  “Ambiance?”

  “Feeling, atmosphere—impression,” he explained.

  “Why couldn’t you say that, Sammy?”

  He forgot there were occasions when what he said couldn’t be literally translated, and that frustrated his wife, who he knew still thought in her native language.

  Combing his fingers through her hair, he cupped the back of her head and massaged her scalp. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Do you want to come with me?”

  Her smile was dazzling. “Of course.” Easing out of his comforting grasp, she slipped off her dressing gown and walked over to the armoire filled with her clothes.

  Samuel felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He held his breath until he felt his lungs exploding before he was forced to exhale. He stared at his wife’s naked body as she slipped into a pair of silk underpants. Her breasts were fuller, her normally pale nipples a darker rose-pink.

  Did she know and hadn’t told him? Or was it possible that she didn’t know? In another two weeks they would celebrate their six-month wedding anniversary and he suspected M.J. was pregnant.

  She’d been going to bed early and rising later than usual. This past week he’d been the one to prepare breakfast while she lingered in bed.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked as she pulled a slip over her underwear.

  Tossing her hair back over her shoulders, M.J. smiled. “Good. Why?”

  “When was the last time you had your period?”

  The flush that began in her face spread to her chest. “Sammy!”

  “Don’t Sammy me, M.J. Just answer my question.”

  Biting down on her lower lip, M.J. narrowed her eyes as she tried recalling her last show of blood. She’d had one in Cuba, but that was in mid-March. It was now June…

  “Dios mio!” she whispered softly. Her flush deepened. Her husband knew before she did. Her heart pounded a runaway rhythm and she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

  “Hurry and get dressed,” Samuel ordered in a quiet voice. “I’m taking you to the doctor.”

  “I…I thought you wanted to go to your office.”

  “Damn it, Marguerite-Josefina! Get dressed!”

  Before she could tell him not to swear at her or call her by the insufferable name, Samuel had walked out of the dressing room, leaving her staring at the space where he’d been.

  What Samuel had suspected was verified three days later. His wife was pregnant, and he could look forward to becoming a father early the following year.

  M.J. crawled onto his lap and hugged him. Her lips feathered over his jaw. “Why are you being so stubborn, Samuel?”

  “I’m not being stubborn, baby. You know what the doctor said about taking it easy the first couple of months.”

  She tightened her hold around his neck. “You promised me I could decorate your office.”

  “That was before I discovered you were having my baby.”

  “What does my having your baby have to do with looking at furniture? Nothing,” she said, answering her own question. “The doctor said I could do everything I still do, but in moderation.” She buried her face against his neck. “Please, Sammy. If I’m not feeling well, then I promise to take to my bed.”

  Turning his head, he stared at her delicate features, wondering which of them their child would favor. There was no doubt he or she would be tall, and have dark eyes and hair.

  He glared at her under lowered lids. “You promise you’ll let me know if you’re not feeling well?”

  She smothered a yawn behind her hand. “Yes, Sammy. I promise.” Curving his arms under her knees, he lifted her effortlessly. “Where are you taking me?”

  He carried her into their bedroom. “I’m putting you in bed for a nap.” Parting the sheer fabric falling around the four-poster, he placed her on the mattress.

  “I’m not sleepy,” she mumbled around another yawn.

  Smiling, Samuel bent down and brushed his mouth over hers. “Try to get some rest. I have to leave now because I have a meeting at the office. I’ll try to get home early. Then we can celebrate in grand style.”

  M.J. closed her eyes. “Can we celebrate at home?”

  “What do you have mind?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something before you get back.”

  Samuel kissed her again, increasing the pressure on her mouth until her lips parted. “Thank you, my darling. Thank you for making me the happiest man in the whole damn state.”

  Her eyes opened. “Only Florida?”

  “No, baby. The whole world.”

  M.J. smiled. “That sounds better.” Sighing audibly, her chest rising and falling heavily, she closed her eyes again as a secret smile curved her mouth.

  Her prayers had been answered with the life growing i
nside her.

  She was going to have a baby—a son or daughter she would love with every fiber of her being, a baby that would make her perfect life complete.

  Chapter 16

  Now I am alone—oh, how alone!

  —Mary Shelley

  Samuel parked his late-model Duesenberg in an unpaved lot behind the building housing his office, then took a back staircase to the second floor. He inserted a key into the lock of a door with PRIVATE painted on the glass in gold letters. He’d made it a practice never to use the front door or entrance.

  Removing his hat and jacket, he hung them on a coatrack affixed to a wall. He opened the door separating his office from a spacious waiting area. Several feet beyond the alcove sat Nora Harris, guarding his privacy like a sentry with his general. Everett’s office was fifty feet away, the windows facing the front of the building. At any time of day or night the accountant could be found there adding up columns of numbers on an adding machine as a continuous stream of paper floated to the floor like ribbon.

  Samuel picked up the telephone messages Nora had left on his desk. One was from a man he was to have met to discuss his acquiring a one-hundred-acre lot on which he wanted to build a new home for himself.

  He swore under his breath. Merrill Wright had canceled their meeting for the second time. Reaching over, Samuel pressed a button on the box next to his telephone. “Mrs. Harris, please call Mr. Wright and let him know I’m no longer interested in the property. And if he calls back, do not put him through.”

  “Okay, Mr. Cole.”

  He released the intercom. He had no intention of wasting any more time rescheduling meetings with the fickle real estate broker. Picking up the signed and executed contract outlining the terms between the United Fruit Company and ColeDiz International, Ltd., Samuel leaned back in his chair.

  “I thought you had a meeting with Merrill.”

  Samuel’s head came up. Everett stood in the doorway, cradling a folder under his arm. “We did, but he called to cancel again.” He motioned to him. “Come in and close the door.”

  Everett walked in and sat down on the chair beside the large oak desk. The sunlight pouring into the room through the wooden venetian blinds shimmered off his stark-white shirt. It had taken him less than six months to acquire the persona of a businessman.