by Donna Hill
He put on his game face and joined the party.
Chapter 5
Dinner was a robust affair with flowing conversation, laughter and numerous trips down memory lane, and enough food to feed an army. Stuffed with good will and a solid meal, they collapsed into respective spots of comfort in the living room. Soft music flowed from the high-tech stereo system, adding another layer of relaxation onto the group.
Vaughn half sat, half reclined in Justin’s arms, her lids growing heavy with each passing moment, even as Justin and Chad carried on an invigorating conversation about new evidence that could totally exonerate the defamed O. J. Simpson.
“From what I’ve heard, there was suppressed evidence of a phone conversation between Nicole and her mother after the time she was supposed to be dead,” Justin stated.
“You know as well as I do that they’ll never let that brother rest in peace,” Chad responded. “It’s bad enough that they couldn’t convict him of murder. Folks are still ticked off about that.”
“You’re right about that,” Samantha chimed in. “But imagine if it could be proved he was on a plane to Chicago and she was still alive chatting with her mother? The fallout from that would be worth the price of admission and then some.”
Everyone nodded and mumbled in agreement.
“Believe me, if there really was evidence to clear him, they’d bury it until the man was six feet under.”
“The restitution, not to mention the total loss of political credibility, isn’t something they’d risk.”
“But how often have we seen this happen?” Samantha asked, her dark eyes polling the occupants of the room. “It’s going on right now, even as we speak. The black man is always assumed guilty until proven innocent. If they’re not killed first.”
Chad edged forward on the couch and clasped his hands in front of him. He looked pointedly from one to the other, making sure he had their attention. “There were several reasons why I decided to come back when I did,” he began in deep, measured tones. “One, of course, is that I missed everything and everyone.” For a breath of an instant, his gaze focused on Simone’s face, then moved away. “The other, and even more important, is that I think it’s time—past time—that we took measures into our own hands.”
Justin stiffened and Vaughn quickly put a halting hand on his arm.
“What are you saying, Chad?” Samantha asked. “We turn the clock back to the sixties and get out in the street—in force? Because if it is, I’m with you one hundred percent.” She made sure not to catch her father’s eyes, but she knew he was glaring at her.
“I was thinking about something that will provoke national attention, with no physical risk to anyone,” Chad offered.
The room fell silent, quiet enough to hear each chord of the keyboard played by Herbie Hancock on a track from his latest CD. He almost sounded like the Herbie of old, the young wizard on the ivories with Miles, stretching an old standard to its creative limits.
It was Chad who broke the spell of the music as he spoke solemnly to the others. “I want to launch a class action suit against the D.C. police department on behalf of all victims and families of victims who have been killed, beaten and unjustly jailed by police. I want it to set a precedent so that the same lawsuit can be brought in every state across the country. I want to bring all of those families together in one massive action against the Justice Department of the United States. It may not be possible to get everyone on board, but it’s worth a try.”
The silence deepened as the mammoth ramifications of Chad’s daring proposal took root. Carefully, he gauged one expression after the other, measuring their reaction. Justin looked stern and contemplative, Vaughn awed. He could see the wheels spinning in the eyes of Samantha and an awakening in the face of Simone.
“It can be done,” he added. “People engage in class action suits all the time for poor or dangerous products, illness resulting from improper medication. You name it. But no one has yet to take on the entire law enforcement apparatus, the vicious national policy of police brutality as a whole, the entire machine and mentality that oils them—the Justice Department.”
“It would be unprecedented,” Samantha finally said, fully grasping the enormity of it.
“But a massive undertaking,” Simone added, also thinking of the legal and political maneuvering involved.
“That’s why I need your help.” He looked with a plea in his eyes from Simone to Samantha. “Simone, you have a strong foothold in the community. You’re gaining a political edge and it would give your platform for the Assembly seat that much more bite and focus.”
Simone thought about it and knew it was true. This could very well be the key to seal her election run—or destroy it. Any action taken on a federal level was always risky.
“And Sam, you’re the fire. You’re out there every day, in the trenches. The press knows you, the people know you. And not just here in D.C. Your name gets noticed in the media across the country. You could easily represent the national voice of the people.”
Simone glanced briefly at her sister, who looked mesmerized by the possibility, seduced by the beam of notoriety. And in that instant, a twinge of something unnamed lurked and found a dark refuge in the corner of her mind. Her gaze trailed to Chad and the same determined look as Samantha’s lit his face. That thing burrowed a bit deeper.
“Are you really prepared—legally—to pursue something like this?” Justin cut in, breaking the trance, scattering the thing deeper into hiding.
“Yes, I am,” Chad stated emphatically. “I’ve been preparing for months. And I’d like you to work with me on the legal end.”
Justin looked at his wife.
“You realize that once this process begins and the wheels are in motion, the momentum will be too powerful to stop,” Vaughn said, imagining the ripple effect on the Hill, the sides that would be taken on both sides of the aisle—and most of all the toll it would take on her family. She studied the eager and determined expressions of her children, of Chad, who was like a son, and looked across at her husband, whom she trusted beyond measure. She spoke only to him. “Whatever you decide to do, I’m behind you.”
Justin squeezed her hand and nodded, both of them knowing his decision.
Chad sighed audibly, then slowly smiled. “We can do this,” he said in an almost hushed reverence. “And when we do—everything will change.”
Simone helped Vaughn gather up the dishes and load the dishwasher while surreptitiously stealing glances at Samantha and Chad, who were locked in animated conversation, peppered with musical notes of laughter and light touches on a hand or arm.
Her stomach bobbed up and down like a buoy on rough seas, and the tightness in her throat was the only thing that kept her from screaming.
But at what? she wondered, frowning as she turned the dials and the machine churned to life. She had no hold on Chad, no claim on his heart. He was a free man. Free to do as he chose, as was she. So was Samantha. All unclaimed. Then why did it feel as if that weren’t true?
Chad was spending his first night in Justin and Vaughn’s guest room, both of them adamantly refusing to let him spend the night in a hotel.
Samantha and Simone said their good-byes, giving their parents the ritualistic kiss, hug and promise to call.
Simone stood aside as Chad embraced Samantha, lightly kissing her cheek and conveying something she could not hear. She glanced away.
“We’ll talk,” Simone suddenly heard close to her ear as her sister sped away. She turned and Chad was at her side, gazing at her in that familiar way of his.
Simone looked up. “Sure.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. His lips stayed pressed against her flesh for a moment too long and the old sensations roared to the surface. Did he feel it, too? Her heart pumped faster. “It was good seeing you again, Simone,” his voice caressed. “You’re more beautiful than I remember.” His finger stroked her cheek and it took all her will power not to tremble.
<
br /> “Maybe we could get together—for lunch or dinner.”
“I’m really busy, Chad…”
He held up his hand. “Hey, no explanations needed. I understand. Maybe some other time.” He opened the car door and held it until Simone was behind the wheel.
She stuck her key in the ignition and the engine purred to life. She pressed a button and the window lowered halfway.
Chad leaned down. “Get home safely.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled and backed out of the driveway.
Chad watched the car until it turned out of the drive and tore off down the smooth, black-tarred road.
Slowly, he turned back toward the house and quietly shut the door behind him.
That night, lying in bed, Chad stared through the sheer curtains that billowed with the light spring breeze and out onto the seamless blue blanket, sprinkled with star dust. He was home, among those who loved him, and it felt good. Very good.
It all seemed so quiet, so perfect, as if all was right with the world. How deceptive a quiet night could be. Behind closed doors, strategies were devised, lies constructed, papers read, televisions watched and lovers loved. He and Simone were perfect examples of a quiet night, both projecting a picture of cool control, an emotional distance, while still maintaining a tangible warmth. He turned on his side, his thoughts still turbulent.
She’d changed. That was obvious. There was a toughening of her edges, a new aloofness that he didn’t remember being a part of who she was. Perhaps it was the work, the things she’d seen and had to find a way to deal with. There was no way she could successfully coexist in the world of politics without developing a tough exterior. A shell to ward off the blindside attacks and sudden assaults of the opposition. Beltway politics at its meanest.
Had Simone become hardened inside as well? She wasn’t the woman he’d left four years ago. But neither was he the same man. His journey into the abject misery of the Third World, with its many plagues of hunger, disease and war, had awakened something deep inside him. He saw everything around him now with new eyes, saw beyond the obvious to the essentials of things. Yes,Simone had changed. And it was apparent from her response to him that she’d moved on and had no intention of revisiting the past. How did he feel about that?
Truthfully, it was a mixture of regret and relief. Regret that there wasn’t a special someone waiting for him, that she was not what he’d imagined during his time away, and relief that he wouldn’t be called upon to live up to or recreate what had once been. The memory was always more perfect than the reality. The mind always played tricks with time and emotion.
Maybe it was just as well. He came back for one major reason—to make a difference. That was what he would concentrate on.
Samantha stepped out of the shower and walked nude to her bedroom. She’d completed a full hour of aerobics, light weights and stretches upon returning from her parents’ home.
Her smooth, brown, heavenly sculpted body glided by the full-length mirror. The long, sinewy legs, tight thighs—and just the right amount of curve and lift to her behind to make a man holler—moved in perfect motion about the room. She hadn’t reached a point yet where gravity had gotten a lock on her, dragging everything toward the ground. Her 36B breasts were still high and firm and she worked hard at keeping them that way for as long as possible.
Samantha sat on the side of the bed, took a cloth band from the night table, grabbed a handful of her locks and fastened a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She checked her bedside clock and disconnected the alarm. Tomorrow she planned to sleep late—at least until eight and not her usual six.
She switched off her bedside light and slid beneath the cool, mint green sheets that matched perfectly with the patterned borders of her off-white walls. Even in the brutal heat of the D.C. summers, stepping into her room always reminded her of an oasis.
Samantha took in a long breath and slowly pushed it out. This had been an incredibly hard week, and the worst was yet to come. Of that much she was certain. But at least she knew she had her family’s support. And now that Chad was home—
The sudden rush of adrenaline caused her heart to beat faster and her skin to warm. The notion of what he wanted to undertake had no precedence, at least not on a national level. To be a part of it—to possibly add a page to history, change lives and laws, was a Herculean feat that left her in awe.
She shut her eyes and the image of Chad’s face bloomed behind her lids. Her eyes flew open and her entire body tingled.
Chad?
Samantha laughed quietly to herself. Who was she kidding? Chad was the one who gave her that hot flush, that extra beat of her heart. He’d been able to evoke that kind of response from her since she first met him six years earlier. But then, Chad Rushmore seemed so sophisticated and worldly—out of her reach—compared to the sheltered life she’d lived with her mother in Atlanta. She never felt he’d be interested in the woman she was becoming. Strong, driven and politically committed. All still in the bud. So she hid her feelings from him, from the world, hiding behind her books, her studies, her causes, her family.
But now—now she was in full bloom. She knew who she was and what she wanted to do with her life. She had convictions, values and supporters. People recognized her on the street and sought her guidance and assistance any day of any week.
She was his equal now and felt confident in that role, and if the possibility of a relationship existed, now she would have something to bring to it. Her own strengths.
She always swore that all she wanted in a relationship was a man like her father, Justin, and Chad Rushmore was as close as it comes. Seeing him again, being in his presence, confirmed what she’d only imagined.
Chapter 6
Samantha arrived early at her local offices in Georgetown. On a clear day she could glimpse the imposing structure of the Washington Monument, and the outline of the Capitol building. It all looked so pure and powerful, strong and white, symbolic of the freedoms for which men and women fought and sacrificed their lives.
She turned away from the farce that darkened her window and crossed the tiny office space to her cluttered desk, stacked with files, forms, and to-do correspondence. Her assistant and dear friend Mia left her a list of calls to be returned and invoices to be signed. Although it was Saturday, this was the day she accomplished the most. When the phones weren’t ringing off the hook, clients weren’t running in and out, and her small but efficient staff wasn’t pulling her in every direction at once.
This was her time, her quiet time for reflection and reorganization.
Although she’d made a silent vow the night before to sleep later, as usual she was up before the sun, and she had completed her ritual two-mile jog by six.
Energized, showered and her mind crystal clear, she’d wound up at her office before eight.
Moving to the make-believe kitchen—which was no more than a microwave and a miniature refrigerator—tucked in the back of the three-room office, Samantha ran some water in a mug and popped it into the microwave. A cup of herbal tea was just the thing she needed.
With tea in hand, she methodically went through the pile of messages, discarded calls she would not make, and then sorted by order of importance the ones to be made that morning and those that could wait until Monday.
Completing her calls to two reporters, one to her GYN doctor to reschedule her missed appointment and the other to a man who wanted her help in a housing discrimination suit, Samantha then went through the bills.
Although many compared her to the young and fiery Angela Davis, and the now in-your-face Reverend Al, Samantha Montgomery prided herself on several things which gave her an edge over both. One, she began her illustrious career working within the system, not against it. Two, she possessed parents in respected, powerful positions. And three, she had her degree in law, a fact very few people knew—but it served her well.
Her father’s dream was for her to one day partner with Chad and run the firm. Especially now tha
t Khendra and Sean had relocated to New York to open their own offices. But that was his dream. At least the part about running the firm. She had no inclination to become trapped behind the bars—no pun intended—of political etiquette and intrigue. Pairing up with Chad, however, was an entirely different story.
Samantha smiled as she signed her name with a flourish on the last invoice in the pile and filled out the accompanying check for payment.
Chad. She glanced at the phone and then at the clock. It was almost ten. She barely hesitated as she pulled the phone toward her and dialed her parents’ home.
Simone took the blue plastic basket of laundry and sorted through the clothes as she made the appropriate choices and dropped them into the machine. Adding detergent and fabric softener—because she was never on time with the softener—she switched the dial to Hot and Start.
The sound of the rushing water and the low hum of the washer was comforting in a way as she moved through her two-bedroom apartment, dusting, mopping, discarding, and changing sheets and towels. It was nearly eleven, and the pangs of hunger threatened to overshadow her zest for domesticity. She recalled Chad’s invitation of the previous night. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer of lunch—or dinner.
She pressed her lips together, debating whether to call him or not. After all, she didn’t want him to think she was too eager, or worse—desperate.
She weighed her options. The worst that could happen was that he would tell her he was busy. The best, that he wasn’t and would love to see her.
The phone seemed to beckon her from its perch of honor on the kitchen wall. Twisting her mouth in the final stages of contemplation, she snatched the phone from the cradle and punched in her parents’ phone number.
