She sat at her desk and twirled around in her chair to face the window. But it wasn’t the view that she saw. It was microfilm and a column of M’s and B’s, one after the other. Black, black, black.
How did that happen? How did we all get so mixed up?
What was most distressing was that she didn’t have a single person to talk to about all of this. Not even her husband, and especially not her daughters. It was too private, too personal and too damn scary. She had no idea how Jim would react. She could only imagine.
“Honey, I have some news.”
“What is it, dear?”
“I might be black.”
“Huh?”
“Black, African American, Negro.”
“Well, I’m out of here.”
Would he leave her? Would he want to touch her and hold her anymore?
And her folks. What would her dad do if someone told him that his wife’s grandfather was born a slave? He didn’t even want to live on the same street with black people.
Oh God. She had to stop this and get some work done. She put on her glasses and swung around to face the computer. She opened her graphics software and called up a web site she was designing. Some of the links needed work, and Bradford was expecting to see it tomorrow. She tried to focus, but five minutes later, visions of that damn microfilm clouded her thoughts. Black, black, black.
Dammit. What was the matter with her? It was silly to let a little piece of microfilm get to her like this. No more ancestor research. It was too confusing and too aggravating. Look at the mess she had uncovered.
She laughed out loud. Of course, that was it. She would give it a rest and come back to it when her head was clearer. That made sense.
It made sense, but she couldn’t do it. She had to get to the bottom of this now. She snatched her shoulder bag off the desk and headed out the door.
Jolene put her hand on the bathroom doorknob. She was wearing her birthday suit and nothing else. And Bradford Bentley—rich, powerful, gorgeous—was waiting for her. Her. Jolene Cooke Brown. Eat your heart out, sis. And all you snobby upper-Sixteenth Street denizens. For all the airs they put on, they were paupers compared with this man. And she had him now.
Good-bye Terrence and the Holiday Inn. Hello Bradford and the Ritz.
She opened the door and smiled at the man sitting up in the king-size bed. She struck a pose in the doorway and held it. Let him soak in all her luscious assets—the big boobs and butt, the slim waistline. Lord knew she worked hard enough to keep it all in tiptop shape. And Patrick never even noticed. She took her sweet time strolling across the carpet.
He threw the sheets back and she got a preview of his assets. Bradford was indeed a man of means.
Within her next few breaths, they were all over each other. It was like an athletic event, a competition to see who could most satisfy the other, with lots of thrusting, panting and loud moaning. They rolled around on the bed and fell on the floor with a thump and barely missed a beat.
They finished on the love seat in the sitting room and then collapsed, completely exhausted. Jolene flopped back on the couch, and he slid down to the floor and lay flat on his back.
For a minute neither of them said a word and Jolene focused on catching her breath and savoring the moment. She had just experienced the wildest sex of her life with Bradford Bentley!
She had never felt so happy. Not with Jonathan or Terrence and certainly not with Patrick. Could this be love?
She sat up and looked down at him. His eyes were closed, and a tiny smile played around his cute lips. If the Lord made a perfect creature, it was Bradford Bentley. Love? The very thought scared her silly, because if she couldn’t have him, it would tear her apart.
Was it possible that he felt the same way about her? He had just yelled her name, hadn’t he? He had called her “baby,” “sweetheart” and “juicy,” hadn’t he? She smiled at the last one. No one had ever called her juicy before.
“That was sensational,” he said as he opened his eyes and smiled at her. He sat up on the floor and rested his back against the base of the love seat.
See? He thought she was sensational. That was certainly encouraging. It wasn’t exactly “I love you” or even “I think I’m in love with you,” but it would do for now. She smiled and slid down on the floor next to him.
“Bradford, that was better than sensational. It was the best sex I’ve ever had. You take my breath away.”
He took her hand and kissed her palm. “You’re quite a woman, Jolene.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. She had to be careful. She wanted to tell him that she was falling for him, but she knew better than to go that far just yet. It would scare him away if he didn’t feel the same. She had to be patient.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. She could stay here all afternoon, just like this. Maybe they could go at it again. Did she dare suggest it?
He tapped her on the arm. “Baby, I need to get back to the office.”
So much for hanging around all afternoon, she thought as she lifted her head from his shoulder. She was disappointed but she didn’t dare let on. “I understand.”
They both stood up and he took her in his arms and kissed her. She moaned and clung to him tightly, hoping to hold him there just a while longer.
He took her by the arms and pushed her away gently. “Whoa,” he said softly. “You’ll get me going again if we keep this up.”
“That’s the general idea,” she said. “I don’t want you to go, Bradford. Can’t we stay a little longer?” OK, so she was losing her cool. She couldn’t help herself.
He glanced at his Rolex watch. She knew it was around four o’clock, and they had been together since noon. “Do you realize that we’ve been together for almost four hours?” he asked.
“Mmm.” She wrapped her arms around him. She kissed his neck, his face, his lips. “Is that all?”
He didn’t push her away this time. Instead he lifted her in his arms and carried her back to bed.
Chapter 24
“But Bradford, we always drive down to Smithfield after the holidays to visit my aunt for her birthday,” Barbara said as she put her coffee cup down on the kitchen table. “You know how important she is to me. She raised me. And I don’t want to disappoint her, especially after what happened September eleventh.”
They had visited her aunt in the winter every year since they were first married more than thirty years ago, no matter how they were getting along. Why was he backing out at the last minute?
“It can’t be helped,” Bradford said, looking up from the Sunday business section of the New York Times. He shrugged. “I’ve got some important contract negotiations coming up over the next few weeks. Go on without me.”
“But it takes three or four hours to get down there by car. You know I don’t like to do that much driving alone, and I’m not ready to fly again yet.”
He shrugged. “Get Robin to drive with you.”
“I can’t go,” Robin said. “I start a new semester next week.”
“See?” Barbara said. “And it won’t be the same without you there, Bradford. Aunt Gladys will be looking for you.”
Bradford chuckled. “I doubt she’ll miss me. You know we just tolerate each other. And barely. She thinks I’m a ruthless cad.”
Barbara smiled wryly.
“Oh, so you think that, too, huh? Thanks, dear.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
Robin chuckled. “She doesn’t really think you’re that bad, Daddy. But she’s from the old school, and, well, you’re a businessman doing what you have to do to survive these days.”
“Please explain that to your mother. Sometimes I don’t think she understands that.”
“That’s not the point, Bradford. We only visit Aunt Gladys and Uncle Marvin once a year. Now you’re backing out of that.”
He sighed. “We could wait and go in the spring.”
“Bradford, please. I don’t want to disappoint her
, especially this year.”
“Mama has a point, Dad.”
Bradford flicked an imaginary speck of dirt from his pajama leg while he thought. “I’ll tell you what. If everything goes well, I might be able to get away for a couple of days and join you down there later. But I can’t promise anything.”
Barbara sighed with disappointment. A lot of things still made her suspicious, especially whenever Bradford changed his plans at the last minute. Old habits died hard when your husband once acted like he thought he was king of the players.
But she and Bradford had been getting along much better recently, and there had been no signs of Sabrina or any other woman lately. Thank goodness. She felt more relaxed and contented than she had in years. Perhaps she shouldn’t nag him about this if she wanted to keep the peace.
She lit a cigarette. “If that’s the best you can do, Bradford, I’ll have to live with that.”
Robin stood and placed her coffee cup in the sink. “Well, I’m off. I have to go over to George Washington to pick up my textbooks for classes, then I’m going to stop by a friend’s house.”
“Will you be home for dinner?” Barbara asked.
“Probably not,” Robin said, blowing kisses from the doorway as she ran off.
Bradford folded the paper and stood up. “I’m going to get dressed and go out to hit a few balls.”
“In January?” Barbara asked with surprise.
“Yep. It’s warm for this time of year, almost fifty degrees out there.”
She took a drag off her cigarette. “Mm-hmm. Speaking of classes, I signed up for a real estate course with Marilyn’s firm. It starts next week.”
“Well, good for you,” Bradford said as he headed for the door.
“Wait. Is that all you have to say?”
“What do you want, Barbara? Cartwheels?”
“Very funny.”
He came back and kissed her on the forehead. “Good luck with your class. Let me know if I can do anything to help.”
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“Probably. I’ll call if not.”
She watched as he tightened the belt to his robe and walked off, then smashed her cigarette out. She was trying with every fiber in her body to trust him again, but it was hard as hell. Take this playing golf in the middle of January. Who the hell played golf in January? Talk about ridiculous. And suspicious.
She lit another Benson & Hedges. She was so glad she had signed up for that real estate course. It would leave her less time to sit around alone feeling sorry for herself and smoking these awful cigarettes.
* * *
Pearl couldn’t believe her eyes. Was that Jolene Brown’s husband walking through the door of her salon? What on earth did he want here? Pearl appreciated Jolene sending her a warning through Barbara that Candice Jones was snooping around behind her back. But she still didn’t like Jolene much, not after she formed that group to try and stop the town houses from being built. They had even gone so far as to plant their behinds on the construction site to block the workers at one point. And then they killed her idea for a community sports complex. The woman seemed to think that thugs were trying to take over her precious Silver Lake.
“Hello,” Pearl said, looking up from the head of her client’s hair. Her hands were full of suds, so she could only nod and smile at Patrick in greeting. She had one client under the faucet, two under the dryer and a fourth sitting on the couch waiting her turn. She couldn’t afford to stop even for a minute if she didn’t have to. Kenyatta was always telling her that she needed to get better at managing her time, and he was probably right. But the problem was that she didn’t have the time to figure out how to manage her time. “What can I do for you?”
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Patrick Brown. Jolene Brown’s husband. We live in Silver Lake.”
He was dressed casually in brown corduroy slacks and a leather bomber jacket and he looked like he felt out of place, as most men do in hair salons. Pearl couldn’t help but smile. “I know who you are. How are you? And Jolene?”
“We’re both fine. How are you?”
“Busy,” Pearl said with a chuckle. “But I’m still here.”
He smiled. “So you are. I believe you know Barbara Bentley.”
Pearl nodded. “She’s a client of mine.”
“Yes. Well, Barbara and Bradford Bentley came to our house for dinner a few weeks ago and they brought a cake for dessert. Barbara said you made it.”
“Oh yes. A rum cake, right?”
“That was it. Best cake I ever tasted.”
Pearl smiled. “Thanks, but if you’re looking for the recipe, sorry. I don’t give that out.”
He chuckled. “Can’t say I blame you. But no. What I was wondering … well, Barbara also said you’ve done some catering in the past.”
“Yes, but I don’t do that anymore. Ever since my salon took off, I don’t have time for much else. I might bake one for a friend or a client now and then, but—”
“Well, if you’ll consider me the friend of a client …” He smiled, and Pearl noticed that he was rather handsome in an understated sort of way.
“I’m helping to plan a political reception next month, and we’re willing to pay whatever you ask,” he said.
She started to shake her head.
“It’s for a good cause,” he added before she could speak. “David Manley. He’s running for county executive.”
She nodded and looked at him more closely. She was so busy with the shop these days that she had no time for politics. She never voted except in presidential election years. But she had helped her ex-husband when he campaigned in Detroit so she knew a thing or two about what it involved—lots of parties, fund-raisers and town meetings. Somehow she had a real hard time seeing Jolene involved in all of that. But Patrick had a nice smile and the kind of solid good looks that crept up on you slowly. He was probably good with people.
Still, this was not a good time. “Look, I appreciate that you like my cakes and all and I wish you the best of luck. But I really don’t have the time to do any catering now. I’m real sorry.”
He nodded. “If you can’t, you can’t.”
He looked so disappointed that Pearl felt sorry for him. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else.”
He forced a smile. “Yeah, yeah. I understand. Well, I don’t really understand but I’ll have to live with that.” He reached into his jacket pocket for his business card and held it out. “In case you change your mind, you can reach me there.”
She nodded toward the shelf in front of her, and he put the card down, then he turned to leave.
“You know, my ex-husband ran for office in Detroit,” she said. “I helped him campaign.” Pearl didn’t know why that came out. She hadn’t talked about those days in years. But there was something about this man. He seemed trustworthy and genuinely upset by her decision. She wanted to cheer him up a bit.
He turned around to face her. “You don’t say? What office was that?”
“City council. Way, way back.”
“So, you were holding out on me, then,” he teased. “You’re an old pro at this. Did he win?”
She shook her head. “Nope. And he didn’t deserve to if you ask me.”
“Oops,” he said.
She shrugged. “That’s just my opinion, but it was an interesting time.”
He chuckled. “I’ll bet. Did you enjoy campaigning?”
“Mmm. I guess you could say I did. I love getting out and meeting people.”
He nodded eagerly. “So do I. It’s a welcome change from my job as a programmer.”
She smiled. “Somehow I don’t see you sitting behind a computer all day long. You look more like a people person.”
“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“And you should.”
“Well, you have my card. If you change your mind about the cakes, please give me a call.”
She nodded. “Good luck.”
He waved g
ood-bye and stepped out the door.
“He sure was cute,” Vicky said breathlessly as Pearl lifted her head from the sink and wrapped it in a towel.
“You think so?”
“Yeah, right, Pearl,” Vicky said. “Like you didn’t notice.”
“He’s married, you know.”
“Shoot, girl.” Vicky waved her arm. “That don’t mean he can’t be cute.”
Pearl chuckled as she toweled off Vicky’s hair. She thought Patrick was very attractive. But she had turned that dial off a long time ago, ever since her march out of Detroit.
She sat Vicky under a hair dryer, then wiped her hands and picked up the business card Patrick had left on the shelf. She was surprised to see that he worked at Digitech, Bradford Bentley’s company. She had no idea. Maybe she ought to reconsider, since he worked for the husband of her favorite client.
Nah, she thought. She had too much on her plate already. Patrick would find someone else to make desserts for his political reception. Of course, they wouldn’t be as good as her cakes.
She walked into the adjoining room and called her next client.
Candice stared at the phone. Should she do it? Should she make the call? She shifted her gaze to the slip of blue-lined paper on the nightstand in front of her.
JOSEPH DUPREE
804–555–4255
RICHMOND, VA.
On her last visit to the archives, she had searched the census reports and discovered that Rose and Peter had two children between 1900 and 1910. So she had dialed the operator to get the phone number of the youngest son but now she was too scared to make the call.
She frowned at the slip of paper. If this was the right Joseph DuPree and he was still living, he would be more than ninety years old. Chances were slim that she would reach him. And even if she did, he might not be well enough to talk at that age.
P. G. County Page 17
