Grace cleared her throat. “Well, I’m forgetting my manners, getting so emotional and running my mouth.” She dabbed her face with her handkerchief. “This must all be extremely difficult for you.”
“To tell you the truth, it is. Could you imagine waking up one day to find that you aren’t really black? Nor your children? There are no words to describe how I’m feeling now.”
“It must be terrible, what you’re going through.”
“It’s going to take me a while to sort it out, but I thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful.” Candice stood up.
“I was glad to do it,” Grace said as they walked to the front door. “You said you have daughters?”
Candice nodded. “Two.”
“How old are they?”
“Fifteen and nineteen. How many children do you have?”
Grace smiled broadly. “Two children, five grandchildren and six great-grandchildren.”
“You must be very proud.”
“Oh, yes. One of my grandchildren is a very successful author. Two are doctors and another one is a lawyer. The youngest is in college at Stanford University. Yes, I’m very proud of all of them. Sometimes I think, If only George could see us now.”
Candice smiled, and Grace opened the door.
“Thank you again for your time,” Candice said.
“Oh, no problem at all. And if you have any more questions, feel free to call me anytime.”
The smile disappeared from Candice’s face as soon as she stepped out onto the front porch. She pulled up the collar to her coat, popped her umbrella open and dashed out into a downpour. She jumped into her car and threw the umbrella onto the backseat, then sat and stared out the front window into the rain.
Grace had talked about her children with such pride and wished that George could see how they had turned out. Candice wished that he could see how he had turned her life upside down.
Candice walked down the aisle of the CVS drugstore until she came upon boxes and boxes of do-it-yourself hair-coloring kits. Clairol, Revlon, L’Oréal. They all wanted to help her live a new life as a blonde.
She read the labels and studied the faces on some of the boxes, but that only confused her since she had never dyed her hair before. She finally just grabbed one and headed for the cashier.
She stood in line, looked down at the box in her hand and almost laughed out loud. This was totally insane. All her life she had been a natural brunette and happy for it. Did she really want to do something this crazy on the spur of the moment?
She looked back up with determination. Yes, she wanted to do this. She had to do this. A dramatic change was exactly what she needed now, and what could be more dramatic than becoming a blonde?
Chapter 29
Barbara set her handbag and luggage down in the foyer and picked up a pile of mail addressed to her. Bradford had never showed up at her aunt’s house, and she’d had to do all the driving down to Smithfield and back herself. But that was fine. It had been good to get away from everything. She was tired after all the driving, but her mind was refreshed.
Most of the mail was junk, the usual promotions from American Express, Saks Jandel and the like. She tossed several of the envelopes out without even bothering to open them. Just as she put the mail down and picked up her suitcase, Bradford came in from his study. He kissed her on the cheek and took her Gucci bag. She smiled. It was good to be home.
“Aunt Gladys and Uncle Marvin missed you,” she said.
Bradford shrugged. “Sorry I couldn’t make it. But you understand how it is with work.”
“I try to,” she said as they headed up the back stairs to the master bedroom suite.
“How was the trip?” he asked. “How’s Aunt Gladys? And your uncle?”
“They’re fine. She’s getting a bit forgetful, but a little arthritis is her only complaint. They said to tell you hello and that they’ll look for you next year.”
“Uh huh. Well, glad they’re OK then.”
“Yes, thank goodness,” Barbara said as she dumped her purse on the bed and Bradford deposited the luggage in her walk-in closet. “I don’t have to worry about her yet. So, where’s Robin?”
“At the library studying.”
Barbara nodded. “Did your meetings go well?”
He smiled. “They went just fine. I was wrapping up some things in the den just now.”
“Good. I’m going to check my e-mail and take a nap. I’m really tired.”
“I gave Phyllis the weekend off and Robin said she won’t be home for dinner, so I’ll order in some Chinese. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll let you know when the food gets here,” he said, and headed toward the door.
“Oh, I wanted to remind you that my class starts tomorrow night.”
Bradford paused and frowned. “What class?”
She stared at him in disbelief. “The real estate class I’m taking. Remember?”
A flicker of recognition crossed his face. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.” She couldn’t believe he had forgotten, especially since she had reminded him just before she left for Smithfield. “Honestly, Bradford.”
“So you’re really going through with it, then?”
“Yes, I told you that.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll be in my study.”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and kicked off her heels, then entered her dressing room and unbuttoned her suit jacket. It was frustrating that Bradford could so easily forget something that was important to her. She had thought about the class all through the drive home. It would give her life new meaning. Yet he couldn’t even remember she was taking it.
She sighed as she slipped into a floor-length robe and slippers, then strode into the sitting room adjoining the bedroom and sat at the small desk. Her e-mail always piled up when she was out of town, and it was one of the ways she stayed in touch with Rebecca.
While waiting for the mail to download, Barbara glanced up at a painting by Alix Baptiste that she and Bradford had picked up at the painter’s gallery in Savannah, Georgia, several years back. It was a Haitian scene in greens and yellows and oranges, and always brought back memories of their condo in Nassau. They hadn’t been down there in ages, and it would be nice to get away with Bradford now that they were getting along so much better. Maybe she would suggest a trip together over dinner tonight.
Something coming across the laptop caught her eye and she looked down. The first message had a photograph attached, and she hoped that it was from Rebecca. She was always sending happy-looking pictures of Ralph and herself through e-mail. Barbara smiled in anticipation and scrolled down the screen.
Whoa. She frowned and leaned in more closely. This definitely wasn’t from Rebecca. It was a photo of a man’s white briefs and a woman’s black bra and G-string sprawled across a king-size bed. A pair of faux animal print mules lay on the carpet. There were at least a half dozen similar photos to follow. Barbara twisted her lips in disgust.
Obviously, this was more of that ridiculous junk porn mail. It was getting out of hand. She moved the cursor up to the delete icon to get rid of the offensive trash, but just as she was about to press the mouse button, something dawned on her. She looked closer.
That was her king-size bed in the photo.
She leaned back in the chair, breathless. What on earth was going on here? How the hell did someone get a picture of her bedroom? And how did they get that underwear in with the picture? She covered her mouth with her hand. Oh my God. This was frightening.
She sat back up and scrolled quickly through each of the photos. Her bedroom was in all of them. Every one. She blew one up to twice the original size and looked at it closely. Yes, that was definitely her bed. Her nightstand. Her carpet. She could even see the Stuart Weitzman label in the animal print mules next to the bed.
She jumped up so suddenly her chair fell over backward and landed with a thud just as Robin passed by the sitting
room. Robin doubled back and stuck her head in the door.
“What’s wrong, Mama? I heard something fall.”
Barbara quickly moved to block the monitor from Robin’s view. “It’s nothing. I … I just knocked the chair over. I thought you were at the library.”
“I finished up early. Are you sure you’re all right? You have a funny expression on your face.”
“I’m fine,” Barbara said, trying to smile.
“Well, welcome back. What’s for dinner?”
“Your father is ordering Chinese. Better go down and tell him you’re back so he’ll be sure to get enough.”
Robin left and Barbara whirled around to face the monitor. This was scaring her. She had to tell Bradford. He would know what to do. Someone was spying on them and harassing them and … and …
Wait a minute. She leaned down toward the monitor. There was a copy of yesterday’s Washington Post lying on the bed in all of the photos. How did that get there? What kind of trick was this?
Unless … unless someone was here yesterday and actually took these pictures. Was that possible? Could this be the work of another one of Bradford’s mistresses? Or Sabrina again?
She picked the chair up and sat back down. She stared at the laptop monitor, her mouth hanging open. She didn’t get it. She and Bradford seemed to be doing so much better. He had sworn to her that those days were over.
Maybe the photos had been doctored. She’d bet that with the Internet and computers, it was a whole lot easier to do something like that these days. Someone could be trying to dupe her, to get her angry at her husband. It wouldn’t be the first time that some woman who wanted Bradford had tried something wicked to get him. She’d had phone calls in the middle of the night, letters, G-strings in her bed. Now this.
Dammit. She did not want to deal with this anymore. Her husband said he had changed, and she was going to believe him, not some phony photos.
She pressed the delete button, again and again. Whoever sent her this filthy trash wasn’t going to get away with it. She switched the computer off, slipped out of her robe and climbed into bed.
Thirty minutes later she was still tossing and turning.
Was he cheating on her? Again?
Was he up to his old tricks?
She sat up straight and pounded the bedcovers with her fists. She lit a cigarette. Damn that man. Even if he wasn’t, it was his fault that she thought he might be. It was his fault for all the times when he really was cheating on her.
God, she couldn’t take much more of this. She placed the cigarette in an ashtray on the nightstand, reached for the drawer and yanked it open.
“Ouch!” Dammit. She had broken a nail on the drawer handle. She yanked the nail off, then glanced down at the bottle of Belvedere vodka, half buried by all the clutter. It had been in that drawer for so long that it didn’t usually register when she opened it. But it did just now, because she was looking for it.
She shoved aside paperback novels and stationery and grabbed the bottle. She held it up. Good old Mister Belvedere, her beloved companion on many lonely days and nights. She ran her fingers over the surface. She loved the satiny finish and elegant design.
One sip. One sip was all she needed, and then she would never take another one as long as she lived. She wanted to feel that burning sensation flowing through her veins just once more. It had been so long since she’d had a drink, almost three years now. One teeny-weeny taste couldn’t hurt. She ran into the master bathroom and came back to the nightstand with a glass. She could use some ice but she didn’t want to tip off Bradford or Robin.
She poured a shot and lifted the glass to her lips. Her tongue greeted the drink like a long-lost love. She closed her eyes and held on to the sensation as it flowed through her body. Then she went into the bathroom and washed out the glass.
She buried the bottle in the drawer and climbed back into bed. The telephone rang just as she dozed off. Dammit. She reached out and grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” she said curtly.
“Hi. It’s me.”
“Oh. Hi, Marilyn.”
“I was checking to see if you got back OK.”
“Yes, yes, I’m back.”
“Did Bradford mention the big contract he helped James get? James is thrilled about it and he wants to get something special for Bradford. Any suggestions? We were thinking of a new golf bag or—”
“Not now, please, Marilyn.” The last thing Barbara needed now was someone fawning over her husband. Bradford this, Bradford that. If only they knew what he put her through. “I’m really tired.”
“Oh, sorry,” Marilyn said. “I’ll call back another time. Don’t forget about class tomorrow night.”
“Now how would I forget that?” Barbara snapped. “I’ll be there.”
Long silence. “Is everything all right, Barbara?”
Barbara checked herself. She couldn’t believe she had just been so rude. Marilyn had helped her enroll in the real estate course and was only trying to be of help. “Everything is fine, Marilyn. I’m just tired from the trip.” And tired of all the nonsense with Bradford.
Chapter 30
Pearl was still wearing the new black pantsuit she had bought for church to celebrate dropping fifteen pounds and flipping through the latest issue of Essence when Kenyatta strolled into the living room and sat next to her on the couch. It was a wonder he was up and dressed, even if it was in blue jeans and a Morehouse sweatshirt. Try as she might, it was impossible to talk him into going to church with her. He had this New Age belief that one could worship without going to Mass, and supposedly Ashley felt the same way. Pearl thought it was just an excuse to sleep in on Sundays.
“You should come over to BET with me for brunch,” he suggested.
“You’re not going with Ashley?” Pearl asked. Dare she hope that things were cooling off between those two?
“I’m going to run a few errands and then meet her there,” he said. “You should join us.”
Humph. So much for things cooling off between them. “Oh well. You go on. I don’t think I feel like going back out. I baked cakes all day yesterday for a political reception, then got up early this morning for church. I’ll just fix some bacon and eggs here.”
He stood up. “You sure? Ashley would love to see you.”
Sorry, son, but the feeling was not mutual. She was in no mood to sit around eating and trying to make conversation with that white child today. I broke bread with her once to make you happy. And once is enough. “Maybe another time.”
“What is it, Ma?”
Pearl’s lips tightened. “You already know how I feel. I don’t need to tell you again.”
“Damn, Ma. Why you gotta be like that?”
“Sorry. I guess I’m just too old to change my ways.”
“That’s crap. You’re just too stubborn to change is more like it.”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
He grabbed his Wizards cap from the coffee table. “Fine. We’re going to hang out after we eat, so I won’t be back until late tonight.”
He walked out and slammed the door shut. Pearl smacked her lips. He was calling her stubborn? Look at him. He was determined to be with that girl no matter what. Pearl didn’t understand it.
She found it even harder to believe she was staying at home waiting for a phone call from some man, and a married man at that. She sighed. She had to admit to herself that was the real reason she didn’t want to go out. And she was too ashamed to tell her son the truth.
She tossed the magazine on the coffee table and folded her arms. Patrick had phoned her every afternoon since their lunch meeting, but now that the political reception was over he had no reason to call her. She should have gone to brunch with Kenyatta. It wasn’t every day that he asked her to go out with him, even if it was with Ashley.
Maybe there was still time to catch Kenyatta before he pulled out of the driveway. She stood up just as the phone rang. Oh shoot. She should try to catch Kenyatta and let the machin
e pick up. That would be the wise thing to do. But who said she was wise?
She ran into the kitchen and grabbed the cordless phone. She just wanted to hear his voice. If it was him.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Patrick.”
Her breathing was heavy from running to catch the phone. Calm down, girl. “Hi.”
“Are you OK, Pearl? You sound like you’re out of breath.”
How embarrassing. “Um, I was in the other room, and I had to run to catch the phone.”
“Oh, so, um, how are things going?”
She smiled. He seemed as unsure about this thing between them as she was. “Fine. Just got back from church. How was the reception last night?”
“A big hit, especially dessert. I’m just glad it’s over. I’ve got a little more time now, at least until the next event. So, how about brunch? I’m at the office now but I could swing by and get you.”
She sighed. She couldn’t. Talking on the phone was one thing, meeting for brunch another. “I … I don’t think so, Patrick. I may go and meet my son for brunch. He just left the house.”
“Oh. Maybe another time then.”
“Yes. Another time. Well, no, actually. Um, listen. I really don’t feel right about this whole thing with us. So—”
“Why not? We’re just getting to know each other. No harm in that.”
“But there is,” she protested. “In my book, at least. I mean, you’re married and … and …” She stopped. There was nothing more to say.
He sighed deeply. “If that’s the way you feel, I’m disappointed but that’s your right. I don’t know if it makes much difference, but I doubt that I’ll be married for long, anyway.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
“Jolene and I don’t exactly have the best relationship. In fact, we have a very bad relationship. And that’s putting it mildly. We’re nothing alike and never have been. Sooner or later one of us is going to walk. I would have done it years ago if it wasn’t for Juliette. I’m trying to wait for her to go to college. And Jolene may decide to leave even before that. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
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