by Pat Simmons
His mind drifted again. Malcolm could've been mistaken about the woman, but she had the same harmonious laugh. He shrugged as the staff entered. If people could copy voices, then mimicking a laugh had to be a piece of cake.
"We have two audits to discuss today," Mr. Winfield stated after everyone had taken their seats. "Mr. Benson's recordkeeping at his three cleaners concerns me. He issues credit memos as if he's handing out candy. Plus he has a habit of advancing money to himself and his wife with no record of putting the money back."
"It's clear then that we shouldn't sign off on this report," Mr. Young, his partner, advised. "We'll make client recommendations, but that's all we can offer him." He signaled to move on. "Gertie's Garden. Malcolm, you have the floor."
Nodding, Malcolm leaned back in his seat and made eye contact with each staffer and partner. "Thank you. In Mr. Winfield's absence, I met with potential client, Lisa Nixon, owner of Gertie's Garden. We verbally agreed on the types of services she needs. I mailed her a letter of engagement, which she signed and returned. Since that time, I have handed over the project to another staffer to oversee the auditing. I made this request after I found Lisa to be an intriguing and attractive lady. This is a formal announcement to my colleagues to refrain from divulging any information about Gertie's Garden to me."
"Wise choice," Mr. Winfield agreed. Mr. Young granted the request.
Later that evening, Malcolm shared the news with Parke.
"You did what?" Parke shouted in his cell phone while driving. Malcolm heard brakes screeching in the background. "Was that wise? Since when did you begin to allow pleasure to interfere with business?" He huffed. "Hold on, so I can pull over."
Flopping on his couch, Malcolm reached for the remote. "My pleasure isn't interfering. You haven't met Lisa yet, but it's been on since she first came into my office. She's drugging me with her beauty."
"Hmm-mm. All this after two weeks," Parke stated sarcastically.
"Yes." After all, he gave Hallison months and acres of space to work through her church obsessions. He had called his brother, former playboy Parke, to cheer him on, not to question his sanity.
"So I guess you're really over Hali?"
"Doesn't it sound like it to you? Peace." Malcolm disconnected and turned up the volume on his TV.
Chapter Ten
Hallison could thank Alexis, a.k.a Alexandra Van Doverhoff’s, makeover for the male interest she received over the weekend. Alexis brought out Hallison's new attitude. As she and Octavia walked through the Galleria, people stared. Through Hallison's peripheral vision, she caught a few gawkers. Hallison and Octavia visited shoe stores and shopped for bargains at clothing shops. They were exhausted. Claiming an unoccupied bench, they rested their purchases and people-watched for a while.
Finally, Octavia had dragged Hallison inside Victoria's Secret. Hallison chuckled at the scenario. Octavia had to practically push Hallison away from the sleepwear clearance rack. Coming out of the store, laughing, Hallison almost tripped when she glanced at a guy who was Malcolm's height, had his swagger, and was dressed in comfortable clothes that proved his fitness. Dark shades concealed any verification, plus he was accompanied by a petite woman.
Her imagination was running wild. Malcolm was never attracted to short women. Hallison dismissed the possible Malcolm Jamieson sighting when Octavia begged to stop at one more place. Afterward, Hallison demanded that Octavia check out of her hotel and spend the night at her apartment.
Sunday morning, they had woken up to a non-alcoholic hangover after staying up most of the night, talking. It took a lot of effort, but they did make it to church before Hallison dropped Octavia at Lambert Airport for her flight. Both promised to do a better job of staying in contact.
"And don't forget to look into a doll-making class," Octavia shouted as she rolled her luggage to the check-in desk.
Monday morning, Hallison glanced at the clock as she reclined behind her desk. "Daydreaming over," she announced as she sat up. She smiled one last time at her fun-filled weekend while scanning three files in front of her. They were the top picks for one of the openings. Bowing her head, Hallison said a short prayer.
Her responsibility not only included hiring qualified candidates, but in the era of disgruntled and retaliatory workers, she had started asking God for guidance in selecting applicants who were mentally stable and spiritually starved for salvation. She finished praying, God spoke, and she listened. After an amen, Hallison picked up the phone and punched in the numbers.
"Smith and Jones residence," a man with an annoying drawl answered after the first ring.
"This is Hallison Dinkins, the director of human resources with Missouri Bank. Is Samuel Smith available?"
"Yes! Yes, he is ... just a moment. Sammie," he yelled, muffling the phone. "I think you've got the job, hon. Pick up the phone. It's Allison Dingdong."
Hallison shook her head. That was the first time that someone had butchered her last name. Usually it was the first name that gave people pause. Lord, if You had not told me Samuel was the one, I'd have hired the other guy.
"Good morning," Samuel said, coming on the line.
"Good morning, Mr. Smith. If you're still interested, I'd like to offer you the software support specialist position."
"Yes, I'm definitely interested. I just need to confirm that I'll have full benefits for my partner and me."
"After ninety days, you'll have coverage for any dependents who you've filed on recent tax returns," Hallison quoted the benefits, shaking her head in pity for Samuel. The only thing she could do was be a light for him.
"Thank you, Hallison. May I call you Hallison?" his voice dropped lower.
Why stop now? Hallison rubbed her temple. Already, Mr. Smith was taking liberties before filling out his W-4 forms at the bank. "Sure. The position starts at seventy- five thousand dollars. Is that acceptable?"
"That'll work. My partner and I were just discussing our finances. We're asking God to help us."
"And He answered your prayers. If you can come in and sign the paperwork and pass a drug test, you'll be able to start next week." They agreed on a time later that afternoon, then Hallison disconnected. "Jesus, you answered his prayer, now please answer mine. Save Samuel's soul. Before he starts would be my preference, while he's working here would be a blessing, or any time before he dies; in the name of Jesus. Amen."
As she reached for the other stack of resumes for the marketing assistant vacancy, her phone rang. "Hallison Dinkins, director of human resources," she answered.
"Your mother," Addison said cheerfully. "I didn't want you to forget about the family reunion picnic on Memorial Day. I just picked up our T-shirts."
"Oh." Hallison gritted her teeth. "I won't," she said, looking for a notepad.
"Okay, baby. You have a blessed day."
"I better write it down," she mumbled after hanging up. Hallison scuffled through papers, patted stacks of folders, and pushed aside reports. She tried to open a drawer, then remembered she hadn't unlocked it because Octavia had called first thing that morning, reminiscing about their good time. Hallison reached for her keys, in her purse, on the floor. As she juggled one strap, her purse tilted, spilling its contents: her makeup, pens, loose change, and wallet on the floor.
Getting on her knees, Hallison crawled under her desk and snagged her new Victoria's Secret pantyhose on a stray emery board. "My ten-dollar hose!" She groaned and continued gathering her things until she fingered something unfamiliar. She dragged it out of the shadow of the desk until she spied the magnifying glass. Picking it up, Hallison twirled the handle between her fingers as she sat back in her chair and recalled the day Malcolm had given it to her. It was a Friday, and they had met for lunch. He was toting a small bag.
"I brought you something."
"I know—you," she had teased.
"Great minds think alike. I love it when you focus on me, because God knows I enjoy every moment I focus on you."
Malcolm wasn't s
lack showering Hallison with traditional gifts—candy, flowers, perfume, and jewelry—but it was the personal things he shared about himself with her that were the most memorable.
He had lifted his bag. One by one, he pulled out items she needed in order to trace her family roots just as he had done, and continued to do, on both sides of his family: a magnifying glass to read old documents from hundreds of years earlier; a hand-size notebook was filled with definitions that were a lifesaver for every genealogist; a note that professed his love for the first time.
"It will take me until the end of our lifetime to stop needing and loving you. I don't want any secrets between us," Malcolm had said. His voice shook with emotion.
Hallison sighed as tears filled her eyes. Sniffing, she twirled the magnifying glass again. She closed her drawer and tapped on her keyboard.
She typed in www.slcl.org for the St. Louis County Library, a trick Malcolm taught her to access records from the comfort of any computer. From that moment on, she was addicted to the hunt for her ancestors until she broke it off with him. Hallison smiled, remembering how she and Malcolm would celebrate her discoveries.
It had been from her office computer that she had Googled her maternal great-grandmother's brother, Ellis Brown. Unbelievably, Hallison had discovered an article written a decade earlier. Ellis had perished in a house fire in Kansas City, Kansas. He was a hundred years old. After that, Hallison went on to locate Ellis' original draft registration card where his occupation was listed as a farmer on Wyatt Palmer's property.
She couldn't believe he was listed among 150 Ellis Browns on rootsweb.com. "Bingo," she had screamed, grabbing her phone. After three attempts, she had punched in the correct numbers for Malcolm's office.
"Winfield & Young Accounting, Mr. Jamieson's office," his sweet, older secretary answered.
"Hi, Lilly. Is Malcolm busy?" Hallison couldn't contain her excitement.
Lilly laughed without knowing the joke. "Hi, Hali. Does it matter? He'll always want to talk to you." She transferred the call.
"Hi, baby," Malcolm spoke into the phone after Lilly introduced the call.
"Malcolm! I found a great-great... I mean a great-uncle. He actually lived in Kansas City..."She rambled in fragmented sentences.
He listened between humorous grunts. "When did he die?"
"March 1993, in a house fire. What a bummer." Her heart pounded in excitement and disappointment.
"I can't believe Ellis Brown lived to be one hundred and was only three hours away. Why couldn't he have held off that last cigarette until I found him, before he set the house on fire while he slept?" The online obit had led her to cousins she had never known existed.
Those were moments of bliss she didn't want to forget. It had been months since she searched through the Heritage Quest database. Although it held most records from 1790, Hallison's search for Ellis's grandmother, Minerva Palmer Lambert, prior to 1870 was stalled.
Minerva was born about 1848, and Hallison hadn't determined if her third great-grandmother was owned by Monroe County, Arkansas, attorney Juno Palmer. So, on the 1860 slave schedule, Hallison began searching for Minerva Palmer Lambert as a twelve-year-old slave girl. When she couldn't find any matches with his slave girls, Hallison gave up.
Pecking away on the keyboard, Hallison gnawed on her lip as she uncovered another possible prospect— Eliza Palmer. She had traveled from North Carolina in the 1850s to take possession of Palmer slaves that included three mulatto fugitives. Hallison grinned at the possibility of renegade ancestors.
Moving closer to the screen, she peered through the magnifying glass. "C'mon, Minerva Palmer, where are you? Who owned you last?"
"Who owned whom?" Ursula asked as she breezed into Hallison's office unannounced.
Hallison dropped her magnifying glass and lost her place. "Do you ever knock? I could've been in a meeting or interviewing a candidate."
Shrugging unapologetically, Ursula claimed a chair. She sported an auburn pageboy wig that happened to complement her tan suit. "Hey, I tapped on your door a few times. When your assistant walked by, she said it was okay for me to come in." She twisted her thin lips. "Now, who owned somebody, and since when do you need bifocals?"
Shaking her head, Hallison shoved the instrument back inside her desk drawer. "Oh, it’s nothing."
Ursula pointed an unpolished finger, which meant she had an upcoming manicure appointment. "If it's 'oh, it’s nothing' from you, then I interpret that to mean it's 'oh, it’s something.'"
Hallison cleared her throat. "I had a genealogy urge, and I found something that might be connected to my ancestors, but I'm not sure. Malcolm could've found it in less than thirty seconds," Hallison mumbled.
"Malcolm. Umm-hmm, that name sounds familiar." Ursula worried one wayward hair strand that religiously sprouted on her chin the day before her hair appointment. Suddenly, she sat straighter and leaned forward. "Because it is familiar. Why don't you call the man?"
"And say what? Malcolm, you're perfect; and I've turned you into a monster since I chose God over you. I'm sorry, you're more important. Have you found a replacement for me, yet? Well, I haven't either, so do you want to get back together until God tells me to dump you again?"
"Humph, sounds good to me. You never know. A brief fling might do you two some good. Listen, Hallison, even I know what you want even if I never hear you say it."
Rocking back in her chair, Hallison closed her eyes. "Yeah, but it ain't what God wants."
Ursula stood and slammed her palms on Hallison's desk to get her attention. When she did, Ursula pointed from her eyes to Hallison, then back again. "Explain this to me again. How do you know it was God talking to you? What exactly did He say?" She shook her head, not waiting for an answer. "Personally, I still think it was just your imagination."
"Believe me, if it was my imagination, it would be filled with things I could do with Malcolm, not without him. Plus, there is a scripture in the Bible that says, God's sheep know His voice. Same as a pet, who after running away, hears its owner's voice and comes back."
"So, God has reduced you to a pet, huh?” Ursula tsked. “Hallison, this almost sounds like a cult." She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs.
As if for the first time, Hallison saw Malcolm's confusion through Ursula's eyes. Ursula wasn't convinced God would or could reach out and touch an individual. Hallison had failed to win over Malcolm; she hoped she did a better job with Ursula. "Believe me, I heard a personal message from God. I had to choose between my lifestyle and God's."
Ursula frowned, unconvinced. "Well, I think you made the wrong choice."
Balling her hands in irritation, Hallison leaned forward. "You're like a revolving door in my head. I wish it would stop and let you out. I'm entitled to my private—key word private—flashback moments." She squinted. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought Anthony was treating you to lunch."
"I canceled," Ursula said, fanning a hand in the air. "I'm considering filing for divorce."
Hallison gripped the desk, shaking her head as if to clear it. "What? I like your husband." She paused before whispering, "You don't think Anthony's having an affair, do you?"
"Who cares?" She shrugged. "I just don't like him anymore."
"Ursula, that's not grounds for a divorce. If there's no cheatin', there shouldn't be any leavin'."
"I'll make it one. Changing the subject, did I hear you say something about the Palmers?"
"When Malcolm and I were together, he piqued my interest in researching my family tree. I had left this magnifying glass in my office. It must've fallen under the desk. Today, when I accidently found it, I thought about a project I hadn't finished. With some downtime, I was playing detective to see if I had overlooked something."
"And?"
"Malcolm reigns. He's the real-deal sleuth. It's in his blood. The Jamiesons have traced their ancestry to before the institution of slavery."
"Really? I say, let the dead rest in peace. My family did ha
ve some Palmers, but I believe most hail from South Carolina." Ursula swung a crossed leg.
"I'm researching North Carolina, not South. Did your family own slaves?"
"How would I know? If we did, I'm not apologizing, and I don't owe you a thing, especially a mule," she recited, as if she memorized the words on an index card for a class assignment.
Hallison felt her hair prickle. Malcolm had schooled her on how to respond to people who become emotionally offensive when discussing ancestry. "Ursula, when a friend loses a family member, do you ever say you're sorry, knowing you had nothing to do with the loved one's death?"
"Of course. I'm not insensitive," she snapped.
"Glad to hear it. What if a family loses their house in a fire? Would you say you're sorry for their loss even though you didn't strike the match?" Ursula looked as if she were about to answer. "Ah, ah, ah, don't interrupt. Let me finish. Weren't you out of sorts when three co-workers from another department were laid off, knowing you didn't have a decision in their terminations?"
Ursula stood to her feet. "Get to the point, Hallison."
Hallison took her time, making Ursula stew. "That is my point. Why is it so hard to say you're sorry to me, or anyone else, whose ancestors suffered such atrocities, whether the abuses came from your relatives or not? Saying you're sorry is an expression of compassion. I'm looking for my ancestors because I want to know who they were and how they lived, not to bring accusations against people today. Check yourself, Ursula, because although I genuinely like you as a friend, I wouldn't want to be related to you."
"Back at ya. I don't have any Christian relatives, and that's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh," Ursula sang, butchering K.C. and the Sunshine Band's hit.
Chapter Eleven
Malcolm couldn't stay away from Lisa. Evidently, she had read his mind as she swayed into his office without knocking, wearing another black outfit. Malcolm bit his tongue to keep from salivating. Did the woman know how hot she was in black? She carried a sack lunch and flowers. Standing from behind his desk, Malcolm crossed the room to free her hands.
