by Dyanne Davis
Something had happened to him while drinking the coffee. He’d made a trip into the past. He shouldn’t have done it. Now he was on fire with lust. He looked down into her brown eyes and saw the memories swirling there and just when he was about to taste her, melodic notes from her purse made him pause. And then it was too late.
She opened the bag and took out the phone. Tommy watched as the memories of the past receded from his own Mary Jo and a guilty look took its place. The mask fell into position. She was Janice Lace again.
“Hello,” Janice said, answering the phone and moving farther from Tommy, trying to still her rapidly beating heart, knowing that it would be obvious to Simon that something was wrong.
He wasted no time in asking. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she answered.
“Don’t give me nothing. I hear it in your voice.” There was a brief pause, then Simon asked, “Have you been crying?”
“Don’t be silly.” She tried to laugh. “Why would I be crying?”
But she didn’t fool him, something had happened, someone had made her cry. A lump formed in Simon’s throat and he choked on the feeling of fullness. He’d never wanted to make Janice cry, but still it hurt that someone other than him had brought something out in her other than anger.
Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe she didn’t love him. She certainly had never cried over anything he’d ever done or said. Then again, where she was concerned it was always he who felt like crying when she viciously attacked him with verbal barbs. He now felt betrayed, betrayed and scared, scared that if Tommy Strong had made her cry, he might also make her love again.
“Janice, who’s there with you?”
She moved the phone away. Her body was shaking so hard that she couldn’t talk to Simon. She should have never answered the phone. She clicked the off button and looked at Tommy.
What the hell? Simon stared at the buzzing phone in his hand and shook his head. He couldn’t have just been hung up on. Anger flared, then was quickly doused. Janice had never hung up on him, and she’d never cried. Something was wrong. He pushed the redial button and waited. She wasn’t answering.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Tommy asked.
“What am I supposed to tell him? Believe me, when it goes to voicemail Simon will leave a message.” She almost laughed thinking of the message he would leave. “Don’t worry, Tommy. Simon knows something is wrong. I haven’t cried in…” She stopped, telling him how long it had been would be handing him the power to hurt her.
Tommy didn’t need to know that since him there were a lot of things she hadn’t done. “I don’t do a lot of crying,” she finished, biting her lips. “I just need a couple of minutes, then I’ll be able to call him back. Do you think you could pour me another cup of coffee?”
She walked away toward the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, not bothering to wait for Tommy’s answer. She cupped her hand under the cold running water, splashed her face, and dipped her hand once again under the faucet, filling it with the liquid and bringing it to her lips to sip. Then she breathed in deeply, calming herself.
With a deep sigh she blew out the breath and pulled her phone out and called Simon.
“What the hell is going on?” he screamed. “I’m on my way there.”
“No, Simon,” she said, panicked. “No, don’t do that.”
“Then you tell me what happened. Why were you crying? Why did you hang up on me?”
“There are so many things I should know,” she said, “things that I’ve neglected.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you know in the past few months two black magazines were launched?”
“Of course,” he said, “Black Train of Thought and Black Rose.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “I didn’t know it before today.”
“Janice, why would not knowing that make you cry?”
“You knew it. I’m black and I should know it. Did you know they’ve run stories on me?” she whispered.
Simon held the phone to his ear, his chest hurting. He wanted to be the one comforting her. He imagined that Tommy had but he wouldn’t ask that. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“No, please, if you come…” She caught herself. “Things are bad enough right now.”
“Bad enough? You’re supposed to be helping the bookstores. You’re not there to be abused. Did Mr. Strong say something to you? Is he the one that made you cry?” Damn, Simon thought. He’d not meant to ask.
“We were fighting.”
“That’s not enough to make you cry, we fight all the time.”
“It was pretty personal, an assault on my character, on my blackness,” she admitted.
“Our fights are personal.”
“Yes, but it’s generally me doing the assaulting, not you. You just fight back. I’m sorry for being so mean to you, Simon.”
Now she was scaring him. She rarely apologized and never to him. He didn’t want Tommy Strong to change the way she dealt with him. At least he could depend on her disdain. At least then he knew it was them, the two of them, not a third party.
“I’m on my way,” he said again.
“No.”
“Why?”
“How do you think that will make me look for you to run here to fight my battles?”
“I don’t care how it will look. You weren’t supposed to be going into battle. You’re not talking me out of coming.”
“Simon, I’m alright. I don’t want you to come.”
That was the whole thing and he was painfully aware of it. She didn’t want him emotionally involved in her life, never mind that they were getting married. She wanted to keep everything between them…what was her word for it? He thought for a moment. She wanted to keep things between them uncomplicated. Well, they weren’t uncomplicated, they were as complicated as hell. He loved her and he would be damned if he allowed Tommy Strong to hurt her.
“I’m coming.”
“Simon, I’ll make you a deal. Don’t come and tonight we’ll sit down and set a date for our wedding.” She waited.
Simon sighed. She’d pulled out the heavy artillery; she definitely knew where to hit him. “Why don’t you want me to come?” he asked.
“I want to complete the job I started.”
“But it’s not something that will be finished in a couple of days. This project will take months. If you can’t handle a few days, what’s going to happen as time goes on? Why are you willing to put yourself through that?”
“I gave my word.”
That was a very interesting remark, very telling. She’d given her word to a man who meant nothing to her, a man she hadn’t seen for a decade. After two days alone in his company he was sensing a change.
“Would you give me your word about something?” he asked.
“What?”
“Will you give me your word that tonight we’ll set a date?”
“Yes.”
“And that you’ll knock off early so that we can have a romantic dinner, just the two of us.”
“Yes, I give you my word.”
He could hear the smile in her voice and he smiled in return. But still he wondered why she was so willing to give in just to keep him away.
“Janice, when I call you again, don’t ignore me and send my calls to your voicemail, answer your phone.”
“I will,” she answered. “I’ll see you at five,” she said and hung up, not waiting for him to say goodbye.
“Yeah,” he said to the air. “I’ll see you at five.” He couldn’t believe it, he’d not even had a moment to tell her off about hanging up on him. Well, maybe he should just be happy with his small victory. She was willing to set a date; he’d take that for now.
Simon picked up the phone in the limo, watched as his chauffeur answered, then gave his new instructions. He would go to his office and work, attempt to keep his mind off what was happening with Janice and Tommy Strong. He’d resist the temp
tation to barge over there and play caveman.
He dialed the phone once again and this time he ordered back copies for the last three years of every black publication that was known. If Janice wanted to know about African American culture he’d help her. He had the means and he had the will.
Chapter Eleven
Janice felt as if a steamer had run over her body. She hated to walk out and confront Tommy, but she didn’t have a choice. She could hear him pacing. Bracing herself, she opened the door and stared straight into Tommy’s eyes.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m okay.”
“You were in there for a long time.”
“I know. I had to talk to Simon.”
“I know, I heard.”
She looked at him, aghast, but he smiled and her heart lurched, an unexpected thing.
“I wasn’t actually listening to your conversation. I just heard you talking and figured you weren’t talking to yourself, at least I was hoping that you weren’t. I poured you more coffee,” he offered.
“Thanks,” Janice answered, squeezing past him and heading toward the back room. “I’ve been a little stressed lately. I have a deadline on my next book and I should really be home working on it. Plus,” she smiled, “I’m getting married and I need to set a date and get ready for all the craziness that goes with it.”
She walked past him, wishing she weren’t so aware of him as a man. The sheer magnetism he’d always had had become more potent with maturity. She shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts. She didn’t want to think these thoughts. Still, she thought them, and for the first time since he’d reentered her life she was happy that he had.
Janice drank the still hot coffee, her mind set on work and nothing else. She had an inkling about why she was willing to work so hard and put her writing to the side.
She’d never cared what anyone had thought about her lack of involvement in the black community, not even her family, but Tommy’s disgust with her had made a tiny hole in her armor and she intended to prove to him that she wasn’t as bad as he thought. Maybe he’d look at her with the same pride he once had. She leafed through a magazine he’d evidently gotten for her, wishing she didn’t care what he thought of her. But it was too late for wishing that. She did care.
Janice perused the charts, amazed at the steady decline in the black economic power structure. Shame for her lack of awareness burned through her as she picked up a discarded magazine, pausing at the article that mentioned her. She looked at the date; it was over two years old. She wondered how he’d found it so easily.
“I just had it,” he answered her unasked question, “no big deal.”
He was lying, her heart told her that. She drank the coffee, staring at him for a long moment. For a split second he was the young boy she’d loved madly. She flipped the page over, saw a picture of a happy family complete with baby, and just like that, the happy memory faded and the remembered pain returned.
Janice swiped her tongue across her top lip, worrying the same spot over and over, not liking the way she was feeling. After all, she’d not felt anything for a decade. This was strange. She looked up and saw the way that Tommy was staring at her and realized that her unconscious action was having an effect on him.
“Why are so many bookstores closing at this particular time?” Janice asked, determined to bring both of their minds back to the problem at hand.
“Technology, lack of support, black authors going to larger companies that don’t cater primarily to the independent bookstores but to the large chains.”
Janice frowned a little. “Tommy, you had me thinking that I single-handedly destroyed the stores.”
“I never said that.”
“No, but you implied it. You have said more than once that my lack of support played a big part in this.”
“And I stand by that,” Tommy admitted, coming to sit across from her.
She watched as the passion of his words pushed aside the burning sexual passion she’d seen in his eyes earlier. They were now on safer ground. They were where she needed to be. Janice had no desire to revisit old graves.
“Tommy, I don’t control technology or big business.”
“But you could bring more readers into the neighborhoods, do more signings at the smaller stores, and create a buzz.”
“I said that I would.”
“Too bad it’s almost a decade too late.” Tommy looked in Mary Jo’s direction, wanting to continue hating her, not wanting to recall the sweetness of her body.
His gaze traveled to her lips and he felt another surge of passion and wondered how on earth he’d ever believed he could work with her and not remember.
“Internet sales are killing us,” he said, suddenly deciding to let her off the hook. “Publishers are now doing their own sales directly to the public via Internet, so we’re getting cut out.”
“This is about the dollars?”
“This is about tradition. Do you have any idea what the bookstores really mean to the black community? Do you know how many years you couldn’t find a book by an African American or by anyone for that matter who might be considered different or that the government termed subversive? It was the small independent black bookstores that got those books and pushed them, that allowed groups to gather and talk about the books. And believe it or not, this method helped the sales. It was the bookstores that supported the writers and now it’s the writers’ turn to support the bookstores.”
“If I never knew any of this, how can you blame me? I had no knowledge that when I started writing I had to make sure where my books were placed. I didn’t do anything in my career to hurt anyone. I was just trying to make a living.”
“That’s a lie,” Tommy sneered. “As often as the two of us planned this out, don’t insult me and say you didn’t know.”
“Those were childhood dreams, Tommy. We wanted to make a difference but we didn’t have figures to back us up. We didn’t really know everything there was to know.”
“You knew more than most.”
“I knew what you told me, Tommy. You were the rebel, I was just your foot soldier. I was there to cheer you on. You made the plans and assumed I would carry them out.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about what we’re skirting around. You think I’m a traitor because I wrote and then sold my work to the highest bidder. And I want to know why you are angry about that.”
“Because—”
“I’ll tell you why,” Janice said, interrupting him, “because even after all this time it ticks you off that I wasn’t your puppet, that I was doing something different from the life you’d planned out for me. My role in that whole thing was not to be a writer but to be what, Tommy? Part owner of a bookstore with you? I don’t think it was even that. I have a good memory and what I remember is that you were going to do all the booking of authors. You were going to do poetry readings, you were going to all sorts of conventions. And I would do the books, manage the store and raise our kids. Wasn’t that the plan you had, Tommy?”
“You were happy when I made it.”
“I was a kid and I was in love.”
“And are you in love now?”
For a moment Janice stared at him, wondering whether he was talking about himself or Simon. “How I feel now is none of your concern.”
“It may not be my concern, but you sure as hell don’t act as if you can’t wait to see the guy, to have him touch you. Tell me you don’t remember how I made you feel, how my touch burned you. Tell me that and I’ll call you a liar.”
Janice rose from her chair. “Tell me you don’t remember the same things and I’ll call you a liar.” They stood no more than an inch apart, their eyes blazing, and as they both had known it would, it happened.
Tommy grabbed Janice, roughly pushing his body against hers as though he hated her and kissed her, shoving his tongue forcefully in her mouth. She struggled against him until something happened and she still
ed and trembled in his arms and he pulled slightly away, still holding her.
“I’m sorry about that.”
Janice fought the urge to swipe her fingers across her lips. What the hell was she doing? She didn’t want Tommy anymore. Simon would kill her if he ever found out. She began to shake as though she were chilled. Oh God, she thought as the memories of her past warred with her future with Simon. They were just that, memories, but still they had the power to destroy.
“Janice, I’m sorry. I had no right to do that. I didn’t plan it, I just couldn’t stop myself.”
“I know,” she said at last, wrapping her arms around her body. “It was bound to happen, Tommy.” She pointed toward the coffee. “The two of us planning, I think we just picked up for a moment where we left off.” She pushed away from him. “But we’re not kids anymore, Tommy. I’m engaged to a wonderful man and I’m getting married.”
“Tell me that you feel in his arms what you felt in mine.”
“I’ll tell you that Simon satisfies me and that when we’re making love I’ve only thought of him. So if you’re thinking that I thought of you, I want you to know that I haven’t thought of you, not one time.”
“Any man can satisfy a woman with just a little skill and a bit of practice. But that doesn’t mean that the feelings are the same.” He cocked his head. “I’ll be honest with you and tell you that no woman has ever felt right in my arms since you. I’ve enjoyed making love and I’ve had women who were way more experienced than you would ever want to be. And they’ve really rocked my world, but there was always something missing, Mary Jo. When the act was over, when all was said and done, I was never fulfilled. That’s what I’m asking you. Does Simon Kohl fulfill you?”
She backed away. “I’m not discussing my fiancé with you, Tommy. He’s not you and he’s not my first. Why would I compare him or any man to that?”
“Because you should,” he said, walking back up to her, running his finger down the side of her arms, watching her tremble. “Because if he doesn’t make you feel that,” he said, looking meaningfully at her, “do you really want to spend the rest of your life in his bed?”
