In Firm Pursuit

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “Jefferson, I think they have cameras in here,” I said, trying to dodge his kisses.

  “Good. Then the little geek who’s watching can get his rocks off.”

  I laughingly squirmed away from him just as the elevator doors opened. When we got to my office, Jefferson placed the bags on the table across from my desk, then walked over to the window. “Every time I come here, I can never get over this incredible view.”

  “I’m usually too busy working to notice it,” I said. I closed the door and began clearing papers and books from the table to make room for us to eat.

  Jefferson pointed up at the ceiling. “We just finished installing some recessed lighting just like this in a section of the project we’re working on.”

  I followed his gaze upward. I had never even noticed the lighting before. I was busy opening cartons of food when Jefferson walked up behind me and kissed me on the back of the neck.

  “All right,” I warned, “don’t start fires you can’t put out.”

  “Hey, babe, just show me where the fire is.” He grabbed me around the waist, pulling me back against him. “My fire hose is working just fine. Can’t you feel it?”

  I turned around to face him and we kissed again, softly at first, then voraciously, as if we’d been starving for each other. Several seconds elapsed before we came up for air.

  “C’mon, boy, let’s eat before our food gets cold.” I reached for his hand and directed him to a seat at the table. “I’ll fix a plate for you.”

  Jefferson sat down while I began piling food onto a plastic plate. He pulled two Sudafed capsules from his pocket and popped them into his mouth, then chased them down with a swig of Coke.

  “You really think this thing is going to keep you from making partner?” Jefferson asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You going to be okay if you don’t make it?”

  I chuckled. “If you’re asking if I’m going to jump out of that window over there, then yes, I’m going to be just fine.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  I smiled at him warily. “Go ahead.”

  “Why do you want to be a partner?”

  Jefferson’s question caught me off guard and no immediate answer came to me. “I just do,” I said.

  “Okay, but why? I’m only asking ’cause as hard as you work, I don’t get the impression that you actually like practicing law.”

  “That’s not true,” I said defensively. “I do like practicing law. Do you like what you do?”

  “Nope.” Jefferson reached across the table and picked up a large shrimp between his thumb and index finger and tossed it into his mouth. “I love what I do.”

  My husband’s response surprised me. “And exactly what’s so lovable about it?”

  “Everything,” he said, talking and chewing at the same time. “I get to call my own shots instead of having somebody else tell me what to do. I like watching a building develop from the ground up and seeing all the electrical components come together. I love it when I get to work outdoors. And when somebody needs me to figure out a complicated electrical problem, that’s when I really get off.”

  I laughed, but I quietly envied my husband’s enthusiasm for his work. He stuffed a big forkful of shrimp fried rice into his mouth. “I already know you’ll make a boatload of money,” Jefferson said. “But I still can’t figure out what else is so good about being a partner?”

  “O’Reilly & Finney is a very prestigious law firm,” I said. “And they’ve never had a black partner before. It would be an incredible achievement if I were the first, okay?”

  “But is that going to make you happy?”

  I wished Jefferson would stop asking stupid questions.

  “Yes,” I lied. “Yes.”

  But in reality I did not know the answer to Jefferson’s question. He was forcing me to think about something that I had not carefully thought through. Like the fact that most of the attorneys I knew hated their jobs. There were times when I found my cases intellectually stimulating, but I was often exhausted from the long hours. Although I had no close personal relationships with anyone at O’Reilly & Finney, I still wanted to be part of their elite little fraternity.

  “You know what I think?” Jefferson said, talking with his mouth full. “I think you give this firm more props than it deserves. Since these white boys haven’t allowed anybody with your skin color to make partner, you interpret that as them saying black folks aren’t good enough. But you listen to me.” He set his fork down and waited until my eyes met his. “You are good enough. One thing I never let anybody do is define how I feel about myself. And you shouldn’t either.”

  Jefferson’s words sounded so much like my father’s they gave me an eerie feeling.

  “I need to take a leak,” he said, hopping up from his chair. “I’ve been here enough times to know, but which way is the john again?”

  “Make a right out of the door and then a left at the end of the hallway.”

  I searched the bottom of the bags for more soy sauce as Jefferson headed out. After about five minutes, I heard loud muffled voices outside my door.

  When I peered outside, I saw Jefferson standing face-to-face with a pimply faced white man who barely looked old enough to be out of high school. His navy blue security guard jacket hung off his narrow, hunched shoulders and his run-over shoes needed a good shine.

  I rushed over to them. “What’s going on?”

  “Ms. Henderson, is this man your guest?” the guard asked, his eyes tracking Jefferson’s every move.

  Jefferson took a single step forward and the security guard flinched. “I already told you, you little—”

  “Jefferson, please!” I grabbed him by the wrist and stepped in front of him. “Yes. He’s my husband.”

  “Visitors in the building after hours must be escorted at all times,” the guard said.

  “I’m sorry,” I replied. “It won’t happen again.”

  I pulled Jefferson inside my office and closed the door.

  “That little punk didn’t have to come at me like that,” Jefferson said, still fuming.

  “If a guard sees somebody in the building he doesn’t recognize, he’s supposed to approach them,” I said.

  “You mean if he sees somebody black he doesn’t recognize. If I were a white boy, he wouldn’t have said shit to me. I can’t believe you’re actually defending him!”

  “Jefferson, please keep your voice down,” I whispered.

  “You’re overreacting.”

  He folded his arms. “I have no idea why you would even wanna work here. They don’t want you up in here no more than they want me in here. The fact that we’re in the goddamn twenty-first century and they’ve never had a black partner ought to tell you that.”

  “You don’t have to be mean, Jefferson.”

  “I’m not being mean, I’m being real. You need to stop running behind these white folks banging on their door, begging them to let you in. If you wanna be a partner then start your own damn firm.”

  I walked over to the table, picked up my plate and scraped the food back into the container. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  “Me neither,” Jefferson said. He stayed put as I closed up the containers of food.

  “Maybe I should just leave?” he said.

  I didn’t want him to go, but my lips refused to form the words to tell him to stay. “If this is how you’re going to act, then maybe you should.”

  When Jefferson took a step toward the door, I had a change of heart. “Jefferson, wait. You’re overreacting. Just—”

  “I’m not overreacting,” he said, actually shouting now. “I fly up here to see about you even though I’m sick as a dog and this is the thanks I get?” He snatched the door open. “I’m outta here.”

  CHAPTER 29

  By the time Jefferson’s plane landed at San Diego’s Lindbergh Field Airport, it was close to nine and his sinus problem was ten times worse. The airplane pres
sure had clogged his ears and breathing through his nose was almost impossible. All he wanted to do was sleep for a week.

  Jefferson trudged down the airplane ramp, then stopped to read the maze of signs to figure out which way he needed to go. Somehow, he managed to make it to the street level and started searching for the cab stand. He felt a tap on his shoulder at the same time a sexy female voice purred, “Welcome home!”

  He turned around to find LaKeesha smiling up at him.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “I knew you weren’t feeling well, so after you called me to change your flight, I decided to pick you up so you wouldn’t have to catch a cab.”

  LaKeesha was wearing baggy jeans and a tight-fitting sweater that buttoned down the front. The top three buttons were undone. Jefferson was beginning to think the girl didn’t even own a bra.

  “You didn’t have to do that, LaKeesha,” Jefferson replied, but he was actually grateful that he did not have to use what little energy he had left trying to get to the Residence Inn. “I think I might have something more serious than a sinus problem. I hope it’s not the flu.”

  “Poor baby,” LaKeesha said. She reached for his duffel bag and he willingly let her have it. As soon as he settled into the front seat of her Honda Civic, he reclined the chair as far back as it would go and promptly fell asleep.

  Forty minutes later, LaKeesha had the passenger door open and was trying to shake him awake. “Hey, Jefferson, wake up. We’re here.”

  It took a minute for Jefferson to realize where he was. When LaKeesha extended her hand to help him out of the car, he pulled so hard, she tumbled into his lap. He felt her cheek brush against his.

  LaKeesha giggled and climbed out. “Why don’t you hold on to the door instead?” she said.

  Jefferson gripped the roof of the car and lifted himself out. He now had a pounding headache to accompany his plugged-up nose and ears. LaKeesha stayed close behind him as he wobbled up the stairs toward his room on the second floor of the inn.

  They stopped outside his room and Jefferson dug into the pocket of his sweatpants, took out the white card key and slipped it into the metal slot in the door. He pushed it open, flipped on the light and charged straight for the couch, sprawling out across it.

  “I’m going to fix you a hot toddy that’s guaranteed to make you feel better,” LaKeesha said, marching into the tiny kitchenette. “In the meantime, here’s some Sudafed.” She set a glass of water and four red pills on the coffee table in front of him. “I think you might need a double dose.”

  Jefferson sat up. “You just happen to carry this stuff around with you?”

  “Nope,” she laughed. “I stopped at Vons and picked up some groceries, but you were snoring when we pulled into the parking lot and snoring even louder when we pulled out.”

  LaKeesha walked back into the kitchenette and began opening and closing cabinets. Jefferson watched as she took three lemons from a grocery bag, cut them in half and squeezed lemon juice into a pan. She added a few tablespoons of honey and turned the burner up high. When the mixture reached a boil, she poured some into a cup, then added a healthy dose of whiskey.

  “Did you eat dinner?” LaKeesha asked. She walked over to the couch and handed him a cup and saucer. “I don’t want to give you this on an empty stomach.”

  “Yeah, I ate,” he replied, although he’d only had a few spoonfuls of shrimp fried rice before storming out of Vernetta’s office. He was already starting to regret leaving the way he had. He would call Vernetta and apologize as soon as LaKeesha left.

  The first sip of the hot drink LaKeesha had prepared soothed his throat. “Hey, this is pretty good,” Jefferson said. He really appreciated the way LaKeesha was taking care of him. But when she joined him on the couch and picked up the remote, a warning signal went off in his head.

  He turned to face her. “Uh, hey, thanks for everything,” Jefferson said. “You don’t have to hang around.”

  LaKeesha smiled at him. “I have a history exam tomorrow. Is it okay if I study in the bedroom for a couple of hours? I promise not to disturb you.”

  Some part of Jefferson’s subconscious told him that he should tell LaKeesha to leave, but how could he do that when she had been so nice to him? He knew exactly what the girl was all about and he did not want to give her the impression that he was down with it. But if she was really going to study, there was no harm in her hanging around. He had already nipped things in the bud when he sent her home the other night and she’d been cool since then. Besides, he felt so lousy he would need a jack to prop up his dick.

  “No problem,” he said.

  LaKeesha picked up her book bag and headed into the bedroom. Jefferson stretched out on the couch and was asleep in seconds. About an hour later, LaKeesha opened the bedroom door and stuck her head out. “Hey, boss man, I was about to heat up the clam chowder I picked up at the store. Want some?”

  “Actually I am a little hungry,” Jefferson said.

  When LaKeesha walked past him into the kitchenette he saw that she had changed into a pair of shorts. Actually, hot pants would be a more accurate description. As she stood in front of the sink, Jefferson had a full view of her left butt cheek. He turned away and tried to concentrate on “The Parkers” rerun on the television screen. He was going to let her fix him some clam chowder and then put her ass out. He was too old to be played like this.

  He heard the ping of the microwave, then LaKeesha walked over to the couch carrying a serving tray with two bowls and a package of Ritz crackers. “Is anything good on?” She repeatedly pressed the remote and stopped when she got to BET.

  After a minute or so of watching three half-naked Generation Xers shake their asses, Jefferson reached for the remote control. Did the girl really think he didn’t know what was up?

  “Let’s see what else is on,” Jefferson said. He flipped past several stations and stopped when he found a “Seinfeld” rerun.

  When he was almost done with his clam chowder, LaKeesha stood up. “I almost forgot to make you another hot toddy.”

  LaKeesha busied herself in the kitchenette and in what seemed like seconds, handed him a second steaming hot cup of her special brew. When he took a sip, he could tell that she had used twice as much whiskey as before. The buzz felt great.

  Jefferson closed his eyes as he took another swallow. What the hell? All he was doing was sitting on a couch next to a woman fine enough to make any man’s dick turn to steel. It certainly did not constitute infidelity.

  They watched the rest of Seinfeld and when it was over, Jefferson decided it was time for LaKeesha to leave. But first, he wanted another drink. “Got any more of that hot toddy stuff?” he asked. His head still hurt and he could barely breathe. If he got blasted, at least he would be able to sleep through the night.

  In a flash, LaKeesha was standing directly in front of him, her crotch inches from his face, handing him his third hot toddy. Jefferson felt a tingle of arousal. He looked down at his pants to make sure his growing erection was not visible through his sweatpants. He took a sip of the drink. This one was almost pure whiskey. He chuckled to himself. The girl was trying to get him drunk, and she was doing a damn good job of it. He could usually hold his own, but whiskey was not his drink of choice. It was probably the four extra Sudafed capsules he had just taken.

  “Hey, LaKeesha, thanks for everything,” he said, taking a warm swallow. His words were slightly slurred. “But it’s getting late. I think you’ve wasted enough of your time babysitting me.” She was sitting down next to him, much closer than before.

  “Yeah, I guess it is about time for me to be rolling up outta here.” She eased off the couch and stretched, then bent down to collect the dishes from the coffee table, treating him to another view of her exposed rear end.

  Her movements were noticeably measured and Jefferson could tell that she was waiting for him to stop her. Once she had straightened up the kitchen, LaKeesha gathered her books from the bedroom, then return
ed to the main room and stuffed them into her book bag. She was almost at the door when she stopped.

  “Hey, I forgot to ask about your shoulder,” she said.

  Jefferson rubbed his neck. He did not remember his head feeling so heavy. “Haven’t had a problem since that massage you gave me.”

  “Well, let’s see.” Before he could object, LaKeesha had dropped her book bag to the floor and darted over to the couch. “Your trapezius muscles still seem a little tight.” Her fingers glided up, down and across his shoulders and neckline.

  Damn, that feels good. Jefferson lowered his chin to his chest. He was not doing anything wrong, he told himself. She was practically a professional masseuse. He would make her leave as soon as she finished his massage.

  Jefferson wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or the Sudafed or the massage, but he was feeling quite mellow. And he suddenly realized that he could almost breathe through his nose again. LaKeesha had lit some incense and a strong, sweet smell invaded the room. Closing his eyes, he became lost in his relaxing massage.

  Jefferson could not remember exactly how it had happened, only that it was happening. He felt what seemed like a dozen pairs of lips kissing the back of his neck and a dozen pairs of hands roaming his body, sending sparks of pleasure in a thousand different directions. When he opened his eyes, he found LaKeesha kneeling between his legs, using one hand to untie the drawstring of his sweatpants, while her other hand massaged his erection through the thick cotton fabric.

  Before he could process exactly what was going on, LaKeesha had already freed him and gently taken every inch of him into her warm, wet mouth. When his brain had finally put it all together, he did not possess the will or the desire to put an end to it. He settled back on the couch and moaned in a way that could only give her encouragement.

  When the last of his mental resistance had faded—for no physical opposition had ever surfaced—he gently stroked her head, encouraging her all the more.

  CHAPTER 30