P. G. County

by Connie Briscoe

  “Well, George looks olive-complexioned and—”

  “It’s an old photo,” Candice corrected. “And this was the South. Maybe he had a tan.”

  “Or maybe he was ethnic or Jewish. That would explain so many things.”

  “That wouldn’t explain why I couldn’t find them in the census.”

  “But it would explain the photo and maybe why Sara and George were so mysterious. They may have been outcasts or—”

  “Ashley, I think you’re getting carried away. No one in our family has ever said anything like that.”

  Ashley held up her hands in defense. “Fine, Mom. It was only a thought.” She stood. “Should I tell Kenyatta that you’ll be down to say hello?”

  Candice blinked and tried to keep the look of frustration off her face. Ashley had hinted around at something like this before but had never been so blunt about it. No doubt it had to do with her seeing Kenyatta. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”

  Ashley trotted back down the stairs as Candice stood and slipped back into her skirt. Ashley was probably downstairs this minute telling Kenyatta that one of her ancestors was ethnic. Candice never thought she would find herself wishing Ashley was dating one of those white guys from high school with orange hair and nose rings.

  Her quest to find her ancestors seemed more urgent than ever.

  Chapter 20

  Jolene parted the living room drapes and peeked out. Still no headlights, no big Benz or Jaguar convertible, no Barbara and Bradford arriving for dinner. She dropped the drapes and looked at her watch. Well, no wonder. It was only 7:10 and they weren’t due to arrive until 7:00. Of course, they had to be fashionably late.

  She took a deep breath and straightened the sleeves to her black-and-silver St. John pantsuit. She flipped her long hair weave over her shoulders. She was going to have to calm down or she would be a nervous wreck by the time they arrived.

  The cognac! Did Patrick pick up some Napoléon cognac? Patrick had said that cognac was Bradford’s favorite after-dinner drink, so they absolutely had to have the best here for him. She dashed across the living room to the bottom of the stairs.

  “Patrick!” she yelled. “Patrick.”

  He appeared at the top of the stairs, fastening his cuff links. “What is it?”

  “Did you get the cognac?” she asked anxiously. “I don’t remember seeing it in the kitchen.”

  “It’s in the pantry up on the top shelf. I bought it yesterday.”

  She started toward the kitchen, then abruptly turned back. “Why aren’t you dressed? It’s after seven.”

  “I’ll only be another minute.”

  “Well, hurry, would you?” Jolene said impatiently. “They’re due any minute. You can’t keep your boss and his wife waiting.”

  Patrick rolled his eyes to the ceiling and walked back to their bedroom as Jolene dashed into the kitchen and past the Cornish hens she had roasted so carefully. She had cooked everything in advance so she could relax and enjoy her guests. She hated it when the hostess was so busy she couldn’t even entertain properly. That was so tacky, so amateurish.

  Of course, she had wanted to hire a cook for the evening, but Patrick was dead set against it. He even threatened not to show up if she did. He claimed they couldn’t afford it with the house they were building. Mister Cheapo.

  She opened the pantry door and grabbed the bottle of cognac. Damn. It was the wrong brand. She had distinctly told Patrick to get Napoléon. It was top of the line. Of course, Patrick bought a cheaper brand. That man could never do anything right. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

  She placed the cognac with the other liquor on the drink cart in the dining room, then stood back and ran her eyes over the setting. She had checked and double-checked everything, but the Bentleys were coming to dinner so it wouldn’t hurt to check it all again. She wanted to make a good impression.

  She had to admit the table looked fabulous, good enough for a magazine spread. And it should. She had copied it from a photo in one of B. Smith’s books, using brightly colored place mats instead of a tablecloth to highlight the dining room table. And she didn’t have to worry about Juliette since she was at a sleepover until tomorrow afternoon. Everything was perfect. Now where were her guests? And what was keeping her husband?

  She checked her watch again. Damn. This was starting to tip the scales from fashionably late to downright rude. Why was everybody running behind but her? She marched across the dining room floor toward the stairs. Patrick had to come down this minute. After all, this was for his benefit. This was his boss they had invited over for dinner. He was the one who needed a raise. The least he could do …

  The doorbell rang, and Jolene stopped in her tracks. It was about time. She took a deep breath and made a point of strolling slowly and calmly to the door. Patrick came down the stairs just as she turned the knob and swung the door open.

  They all smiled and greeted each other with cheek kisses. Barbara had brought a cake for dessert and she gave it to Jolene. Patrick took Barbara’s mink coat and Bradford’s cashmere to the hall closet while Jolene placed the cake on a sideboard. Then she led them into the living room.

  “You both look fantastic,” Jolene said as Bradford sat on the couch and Barbara settled into an armchair across from him. It was true, Barbara was wearing a lovely bottle-green suit that set off her complexion nicely. The suit was far too plain for Jolene’s taste, but Barbara looked happier and more relaxed than ever. And Bradford was still his old sexy self.

  Patrick came into the room and fixed drinks for everyone as Jolene sat down on the couch next to Bradford. He was regaling them with tales of his latest conquests at Digitech, something about a big multimillion-dollar contract they had just landed to update computer network security.

  Jolene crossed her legs and turned them to face Bradford. She smiled a lot and laughed at his jokes. She was flirting, no doubt about it. But she couldn’t help it. Bradford had a kind of animal magnetism that some men were blessed with. Besides, she’d do anything to help Patrick get that promotion he so fully deserved. She’d probably screw Bradford if it would help. Hell, she’d screw him anyway.

  But judging from the looks of the women in his life, Bradford wouldn’t be interested in someone brown-complexioned like her. Barbara was light, and Jolene had heard that Sabrina and many of his mistresses followed suit. Some black men thought they needed women like that once they reached the top. What a pity. Bradford didn’t know what he was missing. Hadn’t he heard that old saying: “The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice”?

  Barbara took a sip of her spring water and watched Jolene closely. She was going to have to keep her eyes on this woman. No doubt about that. Jolene had been flirting shamelessly with Bradford from the minute they walked through the front door. The way she was crossing her legs and flipping that fake weave in front of Bradford was almost sinful. Not to mention all the cleavage she had on display.

  She glanced at Patrick. He didn’t seem to notice or maybe he didn’t care. But Barbara did and she hadn’t missed a thing. Her marriage had been better than ever for the past few months. Bradford was home at a decent hour most evenings, and no one was calling the house and hanging up whenever she answered the phone. Barbara wasn’t about to let any other woman spoil the picture now without putting up a good fight.

  Pearl had decided to go all out for Ashley’s visit. Nobody would ever be able to say she didn’t know how to treat guests in her home. She had the catfish frying, the macaroni and cheese baking and the sweet potato casserole topped with marshmallows, too. The string beans were simmering, and homemade rolls were ready to pop into the oven. Last night she baked a rum cake and poured a hot rum and butter sauce all over it. The cake was always a big hit. She loved to cook and any old excuse would do, even a dinner invitation to Kenyatta’s white girlfriend.

  Besides, cooking had a way of soothing her soul and her soul was mighty irritated these days. A big meal like this gave her an excuse t
o be in the kitchen fussing with food rather than out there trying to make small talk with Kenyatta and his girlfriend. Twice already Ashley had stuck her little white head in the door asking if she could help, and twice Pearl shooed her out of her kitchen. She had agreed to break bread with the child but not to let her help in the kitchen and get all up into Pearl’s domain. That was going too far.

  One thing was a relief. Ashley wasn’t one of those lily-white, blond-haired women. She had green eyes, but her hair was brown and she had a lot of color in her cheeks.

  Pearl removed the macaroni and sweet potatoes from the oven and set the dishes on top of a towel on the countertop to cool for a minute. She adjusted the oven temperature and slid the rolls in.

  She was sprinkling thyme on the string beans when the door to the kitchen opened. This time it was Ashley and Kenyatta.

  “How much longer, Ma? We’re starving.”

  “And it smells delicious,” Ashley said.

  “Five minutes,” Pearl said. “And until then I want you both out of my kitchen. Go on.” She shooed them out, then removed a small Corning Ware dish from the cabinet. It felt so odd having that white girl over for dinner, she thought as she scooped the string beans from the pot to the dish, especially since the girl was her son’s new love. Pearl would put up with her just this once to show Kenyatta that his mama wasn’t a complete monster. And hopefully, he would quit nagging her about having Ashley over.

  Once they were all seated around the dining room table, Pearl tried her best to be pleasant while they made idle chat. When Ashley reached over and touched Kenyatta’s arm, Pearl pretended not to notice, even though she was tempted to smack the girl’s hand away. When Kenyatta went for seconds and Ashley immediately asked for another serving of sweet potatoes, Pearl smiled and passed her the bowl, even though she was beginning to wonder if the girl had a mind of her own. Although Ashley could definitely afford to eat everything on the table and more, with her skinny self. Girl couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds.

  “Here, have some French vanilla ice cream with your cake,” Pearl said after she placed a slice of rum cake on Ashley’s plate.

  Ashley covered the cake with her hands. “Oh no. No ice cream for me. Thanks.”

  “You can’t eat the cake like that. Got to have some ice cream. Lord knows you can afford it.”

  Ashley smiled sheepishly and put her hands in her lap while Pearl dished out the ice cream.

  “I can’t remember when I’ve eaten so much,” Ashley said. “But it’s delicious.” She picked up her fork and dug in.

  “Judging from the looks of you, you don’t eat much at home,” Pearl admonished. “You’re not much bigger than a beanpole.”

  “I like her this way,” Kenyatta said. “She could be a model.”

  Humph. What’s to like? Pearl wondered. Nothing there but skin and bones.

  “Oh!” Ashley exclaimed with her mouth full. “This cake is to die for.”

  Pearl smiled, probably for the first time that evening. Ashley was obviously trying to butter her up with the compliments, but she had seen others react to her rum cake the same way. “Thank you,” Pearl said. “Glad you like it.”

  “Everything has been delicious,” Ashley said sweetly. “Can I get the recipe for the cake?”

  The smile fell off Pearl’s face. Heck, no. “Sorry, but that’s a family secret. I don’t give it to anybody.” Least of all some white girl. Although she would gladly give it away to Kenyatta’s black wife someday.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Kenyatta said. “She won’t even tell me.”

  “That’s only ’cause I know you would give it away to anybody who asked,” Pearl said. “And you don’t cook, anyway.”

  Kenyatta chuckled.

  “Do you like to cook?” Pearl asked Ashley.

  “I’m not really into cooking and all that stuff. Mom does most of it. But sometimes I’ll throw a steak in the oven, nothing fancy, especially lately, since Mom has been going to the archives after work a lot.”

  Not into cooking and all that stuff? It was all Pearl could do to keep from frowning. Lordy, it was obvious that this girl was not wife material.

  “Ashley’s mom is researching their family’s roots,” Kenyatta announced with pride.

  “Oh,” Pearl said cautiously. “Isn’t that something.”

  “Tell her what you told me,” Kenyatta urged Ashley.

  “Well … maybe I shouldn’t,” Ashley said, glancing doubtfully from Pearl back to Kenyatta.

  Pearl sensed that Ashley seemed reluctant to say whatever it was in front of her. That was fine. She’d rather be upstairs watching cable TV anyway.

  “Go ahead,” Kenyatta said.

  “Don’t push her if she doesn’t want to,” Pearl said.

  “But it’s so interesting, Ma. She thinks some of her ancestors were ethnic or Jewish.”

  Pearl blinked. “Oh really?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Ashley said shyly. “But my great-great-grandfather had a lot of gaps in his life.”

  Pearl stared at Ashley. “I see what you mean.” But she really didn’t see. What she saw was a white girl who was trying to snare her son and would say anything to get him. Good Lord.

  Why was it that everybody seemed to want to be anything but white these days? Especially the young ones. They tried to lock their hair. They wanted to dance and sing like us. Humph! All they really wanted was to take the good stuff and pretend the bad stuff didn’t exist. Let them walk into a department store and be followed around by security or rejected for a loan they knew they were qualified for. They would change their minds about being black or ethnic real fast.

  “You have to see his photo, Ma,” Kenyatta said. “He looks kind of dark. Interesting, huh?”

  “Yes,” Pearl admitted. “What does your mother say about all this, Ashley?”

  Ashley shrugged. “She has a thousand other excuses for the dark photo and everything else, of course.”

  Pearl smiled wryly. “I bet she does. I’m sure it will take a lot more than a photo to convince your mother of that.”

  “Mom says we’re Scottish,” Ashley said, rolling her eyes skyward. “And she’ll never let that idea go in a million years.”

  “You could be some of both,” Kenyatta said.

  “Tell me something, Ashley,” Pearl said. “You seem hopeful about it. Why?”

  “I think it’s way cool. We’re all so mixed up in this country anyway, you know? In the end, people are just people. That’s why I admire Kenyatta. He’s so open-minded about things.”

  Pearl was beginning to see why her son had fallen for this girl. She was open-minded herself and cute as a button. She would make some nice white man a good wife, as long as he could do his own cooking. But she wasn’t right for Kenyatta. Not in this world.

  Now how did this happen? Barbara wondered as she fussed with the hemline of her skirt. She was sitting here with Patrick discussing P.G. County politics, and somehow Bradford had wandered off with Jolene after dessert. Presumably Bradford was taking a look at a problem Jolene was having with her laptop computer, something that Patrick, a programmer, couldn’t fix. Yeah, right. Knowing Jolene, her top had probably found its way to her lap by now.

  Barbara cupped her hands on the dining room table. She had to stop these naughty thoughts. If she and Bradford were going to make it, she would have to learn to trust him.

  “We’re planning an event to raise funds for David Manley next month,” Patrick said.

  “I didn’t know you were involved in politics.”

  Patrick smiled. “It’s new for me. Do you have any interest in politics?”

  “Me?” Barbara tapped the tabletop lightly. She could sure use a cigarette about now. “No, not really. But you should talk to Bradford. He’s got a lot of connections.”

  “I mentioned the fund-raiser to him. I was hoping you both could be there.”

  Barbara nodded absentmindedly. Everyone wanted her someplace. She and Bradfo
rd. They got dozens of invitations a month. Didn’t these people understand she couldn’t be everywhere? And where on earth were Bradford and Jolene?

  “Can I get you more water?” Patrick asked anxiously, as if he sensed something was bothering her. “Or something else?”

  “No thanks, I’m fine.” It was a pity that water was all she could drink. She put her hands in her lap. No booze, no cigarettes. Husband missing. What was a girl to do? Make small talk, that’s what. That would take her mind off Bradford and Jolene. Besides, she was being rude to her host, one of her husband’s employees. “Um, your house is lovely. Will you put it on the market when you move into the new one?”

  “Oh yeah. Without a doubt. We can’t afford to keep both of them.”

  Barbara nodded and smiled. She was tempted to get up and go find Bradford. But that would never do.

  “Let’s go sit in the living room,” Patrick suggested. “It’s more comfortable there.”

  Barbara jumped up. “Good idea.” She thought she would go mad if she had to sit still another minute.

  Just as they entered the living room, Jolene and Bradford returned from their little journey to who knows where.

  “Any luck fixing her top? Er, laptop computer?” Barbara asked. It was a struggle to keep a smirk off her lips. She thought her comment was clever, even if no one else noticed.

  “Not really,” Bradford said. “It’s probably time for a new one.”

  “That’s what I told her,” Patrick said. “Thanks for taking a look at it, anyway, Bradford.”

  “No problem. Anytime.”

  Bradford sat on the couch, and Barbara and Jolene collided as they both moved to sit next to him.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in the armchair?” Jolene asked, smiling sweetly as she relinquished the seat to Barbara.