P. G. County

by Connie Briscoe

  She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Could the census takers have made a mistake with the color designation? It looked like they had missed Sara and George entirely in the earlier years, and now it looked like they had marked George’s sister Rose as mulatto. Either those census takers were a bunch of nincompoops or … or …

  Candice’s heart picked up a beat, slowly at first and then faster until it was pounding in her ears. Or her family had made a mistake about their heritage—a big one—and Rose and George and all the rest of them really were part black. Her George. Her family.

  She stood up so fast her chair fell over backward. Oh God. This was like watching a horror movie and her ancestors were the cast. Her family couldn’t possibly have been so wrong about something like this all these years. That was absurd. She looked at her hand. It was white. She was white. They were white. A little piece of film more than a hundred years old couldn’t change that.

  She picked up her chair and sat back down. She pressed the button and stared at the reel as it rewound. Her eyelid was jumping furiously now. Her throat felt hot and scratchy. She could see all those names scrolling by in front of her with big black M’s next to them. Hundreds and hundreds of M’s scrolling by as if to mock her. Mulatto, mulatto, mulatto. Black, black, black.

  How could this be?

  Chapter 23

  Jolene stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor. This little ploy of hers absolutely had to work, since she had gone through so much trouble to plan it. Ever since Bradford and Barbara had come over for dinner, Jolene had known that she had to get Bradford alone to find out if he was available. And she would move heaven and hell to do it. A woman simply did not miss out on a chance to get close to a man like Bradford Bentley. Not this woman, anyway.

  At first she had been tempted to pick up the phone and call to ask him out to lunch, but that was a bit brazen, even for her. They were both married, and she didn’t want to look like a fool if Bradford wasn’t interested in her.

  Then she got lucky. Patrick told her on Friday that he would be in Baltimore all day that following Monday to visit one of Digitech’s clients, and in no time Jolene had hatched her little plan and put it in motion. She had her hair weave redone on Saturday at Kim’s, a chichi salon in D.C. She’d had to bribe Kim to bump another woman and take her at the last minute with the promise of a fifty-dollar tip, but it was worth every penny. Then she got a manicure and pedicure. On Sunday she drove to Saks on Wisconsin Avenue near D.C. and bought a new St. John suit, fitting tight as you please.

  That morning she had called in sick at the office, then slept a little late to get some extra beauty rest. She woke up around ten for a long, hot bubble bath. There was nothing like a leisurely soak in the tub to get her feeling sexy. Not that she needed help in that department. She was a natural. But she wanted to be at the very top of her game for this day. She then did her makeup and slipped into her new suit and a pair of three-inch heels. She took the time to make sure everything was flawless.

  Now she was at the Digitech offices, and judging from the lustful glances she was getting from the men she passed on her way up, she was looking like a billion bucks. She would casually stroll in and pretend to have a lunch date with Patrick. When the receptionist told her he was out for the day, she would feign surprise, then ask to see Bradford.

  It was a perfect plan—almost. The only flaw was that she had no way of knowing if Bradford would be in. But there was nothing she could do to ensure that. She had to take her chances.

  She stepped out of the elevator and into the fourth-floor hallway. Digitech was on her right, behind double glass doors. A black man in a navy suit who appeared to be in his early thirties exited the office and held the door open as he looked her over with obvious approval. She smiled and threw in a little extra hip wiggle for him as she walked through the door. It always pleased her to see that she could still turn a man’s head, especially a younger one.

  The receptionist was seated behind a big wooden desk in the outer lobby of the suite. She looked up and smiled. Jolene had never been crazy about Brenda. She looked like a lot of the women in Bradford’s life—tall, thin and fair in complexion. She was one of those African American women who looked almost white, with long wavy hair and light green eyes. Jolene wondered if Bradford had ever had an affair with her.

  “Good afternoon, Brenda.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brown. How are you?”

  “Never better,” Jolene said. “I’ll go on back. Patrick is expecting me.”

  Brenda raised her eyebrows. “Is he? Then he must have forgotten. Patrick is going to be out of the office all day today.”

  Jolene did her best to look surprised. “But that can’t be right. We’re meeting for lunch.”

  “Do you want me to buzz him to see if he’s there? I’m almost sure he’s out.”

  “Would you, please?”

  While Brenda dialed, Jolene removed her compact and checked her hair and makeup. Brenda hung up and shrugged. “He’s not there. Sorry.”

  “You’re kidding?” Jolene asked innocently.

  “I’m afraid not,” Brenda replied. “He came in early this morning but then he left to go to Baltimore around ten and said he wouldn’t be back here until tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh darn,” Jolene said. She flipped her weave over her shoulders. “He must have forgotten our lunch date. Men. I tell you. Well, you know what? Since I’m here, I may as well stop in and say hello to Bradford. Is he in?”

  “You mean Mr. Bentley?” The receptionist seemed perplexed.

  “Yes,” Jolene answered coolly. “Him.”

  “Um, I can check.” Brenda picked up the phone and spoke for a minute, then hung up. “His secretary said for you to go on back. It’s through these doors, all the way to the end.”

  Jolene smiled triumphantly. So far so good, she thought as she walked down the hallway. And then there it was. She could see big double doors with his name in elegant bold letters. “Bradford Bentley III, President.” Ooh. Her heart fluttered in anticipation.

  She paused and hiked her skirt up a bit, ignoring the puzzled look on his secretary’s face. Then she knocked and entered when she heard his voice. He was buttoning the jacket to a very expensive-looking gray pinstripe suit. He came from around his desk, took both of her hands and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Now what did I do to deserve this delightful visit?” he asked as he led her to a small plush couch sitting against the wall. They sat down next to each other.

  She smiled sweetly. “Well, I came down here to have lunch with Patrick. But I think he forgot all about me. I just learned that he’s in Baltimore today. So I thought I would stop in and say hello.”

  “Well, shame on him. But I couldn’t be happier. Patrick’s loss is my gain. You look fabulous, Jolene.”

  “Thank you, Bradford.” He was obviously flirting with her. She crossed her legs, and her short skirt rose up high over her thighs. His eyes caught every move and every inch of leg.

  “Give me a minute,” he said, standing. “I want to get my secretary to hold all my calls. It’s not every day that a beautiful woman comes to the office to visit me.”

  Jolene put on her biggest, sexiest smile as Bradford walked to the desk and reached for his phone. She could hardly believe how well this was turning out. He was flirting with every move he made—the way he smiled at her, touched her, spoke to her.

  This was starting to feel like that first visit to Terrence’s office and the way they had flirted shamelessly with each other. In some ways, Bradford reminded her of Terrence. They were both very successful, very good-looking and, unfortunately, very married. Although there was one big difference that immediately came to Jolene’s mind. Bradford was a heck of a lot richer than Terrence.

  In fact, next to Bradford, Terrence looked like a damn pauper. And Bradford didn’t seem to be nearly as devoted to his wife as that sap Terrence turned out to be. Poor Barbara. It looked lik
e her marriage was a total sham. Well, it certainly wasn’t her fault if Barbara didn’t know how to keep her man happy, now was it? Jolene smiled as Bradford put down the phone and sat next to her. He moved in closer than before.

  “Now, where were we?” He touched her knee gently with his finger as his gaze traveled from her thighs up to her breasts. Fortunately, she had left the top button to her suit jacket open and was not wearing a blouse, so his eyes had plenty to feast on. To her total astonishment, he shifted his fingers from her knee to the crevice between her breasts. It was a light feather touch and very tantalizing.

  She caught her breath. Whoa. Down, boy. Bradford was ready to pounce on her right then and there. It was tempting, but this was a bit fast, even for her. She had learned a lot with Terrence, and she wasn’t going to be so easy this time. If she let him, Bradford would bang her and then drop her before she knew what had happened. She was going to play this one a lot more carefully. Let him chase her a bit. Then he would appreciate her more when he finally caught her.

  She had to gain control of the situation without offending him. She smiled and turned her knees away gently. “I was just saying that I came down to meet my husband for lunch but he’s not here.”

  He backed away. “Yes. Well, like you said, I believe he’s out for the rest of the day.”

  “And how have you been, Bradford?”

  “I’m just fine. And you?”

  “Mmm … a little disappointed that I won’t be having lunch with Patrick after coming all the way down here, of course.” Hint, hint.

  “Oh well. I’m here,” Bradford said, and spread his arms.

  She smiled coyly. “So you are.”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “You mean for lunch? Us?”

  “Yes, if you’re up for that,” he added. “And you don’t mind my company.”

  “Not at all. I’d like that very much.”

  “Then why don’t we ride into town to B. Smith’s? Or Georgia Brown? How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful,” she said with delight. “I can’t think of a better way to spend my time. Er, if, um, if Patrick’s not here.”

  “Good.”

  He held the doors open for her and stood a lot closer than he needed to in the elevator. Not only was he a very sexy man, he was also a gentleman.

  She sank into the passenger seat of his silver Jaguar convertible and it felt like she was wrapped in fur.

  “You look like you were made for that seat,” Bradford said.

  Her thought exactly. She laughed. “I could definitely get used to this in a hurry.”

  He stopped at a traffic light, and she turned toward him, making sure he had a good view of the cleavage he had touched moments ago. “When are you going to give Patrick a promotion so I can ride in style like this?”

  Bradford threw his head back and laughed. “Are you sure he didn’t put you up to this?”

  Jolene chuckled. “Patrick? Hardly. He doesn’t really care much about things like this.” She rubbed her fingers over the smooth leather of the car seat. “But I do.”

  He nodded with understanding. “Neither does Barbara. She thinks it’s too flashy. You surprise me, Jolene. You’re not what I might have expected. I mean, I always found you attractive but I thought your personality would be different than it is.”

  “Oh really? How, Bradford?”

  “Somehow I had pictured you as more conservative, I think. More straitlaced.”

  She smiled. “And what do you think now?”

  “You’re a go-getter, a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it.”

  “Hmm. That’s a compliment in my book.”

  “I meant it as a compliment. That can be very alluring in a woman.”

  “Thank you, Bradford. You know, you’re exactly what I expected.”

  “Oh? And what did you expect?”

  “Smooth, sharp, sexy as hell.”

  He nodded as if he had known it all along, and Jolene smiled. What a man. He was so much like her. Cool and confident. And she loved the vibes jumping back and forth between them. She could feel the heat bouncing off the walls and ceiling.

  Bradford was obviously well known at the restaurant. The maêtre d’ sat them at a quiet table in a corner, and they continued to flirt shamelessly. By the time the waiter brought dessert, they were playing footsie under the table. She had removed her right heel and ran her stockinged toes up and down his calf.

  This was moving a little faster than she had planned, but so what. She wasn’t complaining. She found this man so much more irresistible than she’d ever imagined.

  “What are you doing to me, Bradford?” she said softly. “I feel so naughty around you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said. “Because you are the most captivating woman I’ve come across in a long time.”

  “You know what they say, don’t you, Bradford?” she asked coyly.

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, a deep throaty laugh. “Well, now, I sure hope I’ll get a chance to test that.”

  “You inspire me, Bradford. I’ve always admired you tremendously. You remind me of my father in a way. He’s a retired judge, you know—very confident and commanding.”

  “So, your father was a judge? I’m impressed. What is he doing now?”

  Jolene smiled. “He and my mother live off of upper Sixteenth Street. They do a lot of traveling. In fact, they’re in the Caribbean now.”

  “Hmm,” he said, arching his eyebrows with obvious approval. “The gold coast. Nice area.”

  Jolene smiled. Her casual comments about her parents seemed to have the desired effect. She wanted him to know that she was of far different stock than Bradford’s previous mistresses, at least that nut Sabrina. Not even Barbara, with her country beginnings, came close to having her illustrious pedigree, filled with judges, doctors and lawyers.

  The waitress brought the check, but they were so fixed on each other that they barely glanced in her direction. Although Jolene pretended not to notice, she couldn’t help but see the big smile that the twenty-something little blond waitress bestowed on Bradford whenever she approached the table. It seemed every woman on the planet was drawn to this man. And could she blame them? With his good looks and thousand-dollar suits, he oozed power, authority, money.

  Well, get out of the way, bitches. He was hers now. “What do you have planned for the afternoon?” She prayed he would want to see her. If not now, sometime soon.

  Bradford pulled out his platinum American Express card and placed it on the table. Then he looked back at her. “You, I hope.”

  She thought her heart would jump out onto the table. For the first time in her life, her mouth went dry.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Jolene,” he continued. “Right now I’m thinking of a suite at the Ritz and you lying nude between the sheets. I’d love to spend a leisurely afternoon playing hooky and getting to know each other. But if it doesn’t suit you, I understand.”

  Jolene quickly found her voice. She hoped it didn’t sound hoarse. “What are we waiting for?” The hell with taking things more slowly this time around and letting him chase her. She had come to seduce him, hadn’t she? Although now she wasn’t so sure who had seduced whom.

  The waitress returned the credit card, and Jolene excused herself to go powder her nose. But it was really her heart that needed tending. She was off to a hotel room with Bradford Bentley. It didn’t get much better than this.

  And it had been so damn easy. To think she was worried that he might reject her. Silly girl. She smiled at her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. She wanted to believe that it was this pretty brown face and perfect body that made everything go so smoothly. But she knew better. Bradford was a player, plain and simple. He was probably just waiting for the right woman to come along to replace Sabrina. Or maybe the right couple of women
. For all she knew, he was already seeing someone else.

  But she would do her absolute best to clear the field. Move over, bitches. Jolene is here. That meant Barbara, too. Even a man like Bradford would settle down for the right woman, and obviously that was not Barbara. If she played her cards right, maybe it could be her. Mrs. Jolene Bentley. Ooh. That sounded positively perfect.

  She was going to dig up every bit of information about him that she could find—his likes and dislikes, his quirks and habits. And then she would become the woman of his dreams. Did he like women who cooked? She would take a damn gourmet cooking class. Did he like them athletic? Hell, she would take up golf or tennis or learn to jump out of planes. Whatever it took.

  But first things first. Right now she was going to have to summon everything she had learned over the years to be the best lover he had ever slept with. If there was one thing she knew about men like Bradford, it was that they liked sex, and lots of it. Good sex was the bait that lured the big fish like Bradford out of the sea. Then you could go in for the kill—the ring, marriage, the whole bit. The key was to get him to feel that he could get his every need satisfied with her and her only.

  She touched up her makeup, quickly checked her suit and opened the door.

  Candice brushed by the reception desk and barely looked in Brenda’s direction. It was already after lunchtime and she was just getting into work. She wasn’t getting much sleep at all lately. She would wake at two or three in the morning and stare at the dark ceiling, then finally doze off around four or five. It had been that way ever since that frightening discovery at the archives last week.

  Her emotions were all over the place, jumping around like a yo-yo. One minute she’d brush the findings off, quite certain that there was a huge mistake, that the census taker or someone at the archives had screwed up. All she had to do was look in the mirror to see that.

  The next minute she’d find herself wondering if something so bizarre could possibly be true. She was starting to notice things she never had before, to see things differently. The other day it had dawned on her that Brenda had the hair and features of a white woman and that if her complexion were a shade lighter, she would look white. And she had noticed that a lot of blacks on the street looked like Brenda.