Justine felt Duncan’s hard stare on her before her glance took in his raised eyebrow and the impression of his tongue poking his lower cheek. He made a ceremony of clearing his throat. “Well. Well.”
Justine ignored him. “Just be honest about your feelings, Banks.” She tried to act as though she didn’t notice Duncan’s look of surprise. “He needs to know you admire him just as much as you need to know he admires you,” she went on.
As though unwilling to let an opportunity get past him, Duncan looked Justine in the eye and drawled, “I haven’t noticed you knocking yourself out to make me feel great.”
If he’d intended to surprise her, he had to know from her quick frown that he’d succeeded. “I didn’t know you needed that nor that I was the one to do it.”
Banks yawned deliberately and with all the drama of a great actress in a choice role. “Will you two stop fencing with each other? We’re supposed to be dealing with my problem.”
Duncan walked to the bar, glanced at his sister, and shrugged with an air of disdain. “Your problem? I’m not sure I want Wayne Roundtree kissing my sister. Would you ladies like some wine or something stronger?”
Banks took a spritzer, and Justine asked for a Lazy Mary. “What’s that?” Banks and Duncan asked simultaneously.
“A Bloody Mary without the vodka.” From the expression on their faces, you’d have thought she’d dropped in from Mars.
“What am I going to do about Wayne?” Banks asked, bringing them back to the issue of most importance.
“Get rid of that crust you wear and be yourself,” Duncan snapped. “What’s so great about him anyway? There are plenty of other guys.”
“I’m not interested in plenty of other guys; it’s Wayne I can’t stop thinking about.”
“Maybe Duncan is right,” Justine said. “I think Wayne likes strong, independent women, but he wants them soft. Feminine.”
She knew she’d said the wrong words, though she didn’t know which ones sent Banks’s back up and changed her expression from suppliant to incredulous. “I’m not about to be responsible for any man’s ego,” she protested. “I’m going back there and talk with Mattie.”
“What you’re responsible for is your own femininity,” Justine said.
Banks tossed her head and shrugged her left shoulder.
“Looks like I’m gonna strike out then. Justine, you sound just like Aunt Mariah. Sometimes I could throttle that woman. She’s so understanding. The correct answer to half the letters she publishes is a simple, ‘Woman, don’t be stupid.’”
Justine didn’t want to look at Duncan, because she knew that, with Banks out of the room, he couldn’t wait to pounce. And pounce, he did. “Well. Well. That little conversation was most revealing. You’d tell your man how great he was. And you’d be soft and feminine, too, wouldn’t you?”
She got up and started for the door. “I’m not in a mood to tangle with you, Duncan. You’ve been floating those balloons past me ever since this afternoon. Please try to remember that I’m Tonya’s nanny.”
His half-laugh held a tinge of bitterness. “You don’t think I could forget it, do you? By the way, that’s a lovely get-up. Soft and feminine.”
What next? She asked herself, as he propped his foot on the bottom rung of a Shaker chair that had belonged to his grandfather, and which occupied a place of honor beside the living room door, and gazed steadily at her. His face lost all expression.
“You waltzed in here and shook up our world. You brought us exactly what we needed and plenty of it. Don’t you know what happens when you throw a pebble into a pond?”
“Are you asking me to leave?”
“God forbid.” He stepped to the chair in which she sat and held out his hand to her. “Come on. Let’s…let’s check out that kitchen.”
When she stood, air and a few inches were all that separated them. His gaze nearly unraveled her as he focused first on her eyes and then on her mouth. Her quick intake of breath brought his ten fingers to her forearms, and a trembling of her lips telegraphed to him her anticipation of his kiss and her fear of the consequences.
“Oh, hell!” He spun around, bolted from the living room, and his steps could be heard taking him toward the kitchen.
After dinner, Justine went upstairs to check on Tonya, and Banks followed Duncan down to the basement. He paused on the bottom step and looked back at his sister. “You know, it’s been months since a woman answered that notice that runs every week in Dee Dee’s column. Strange. Well, what the heck! Maybe women don’t think the offer is such a bargain.”
Banks walked on past him. “It’s only a bargain for a desperate woman. Most of us human creatures need to be loved. Anybody male or female who claims otherwise is either lying or peculiar. You included.”
She reached for a cigarette, remembered where she was, and put it back. “If you ask me, and if you don’t, the answer to your problem is right upstairs. You’re not going to find a woman who’ll be a better mother to Tonya than Justine. And you know it. That’s why you’re fighting so hard not to let your guard down with her. But you might as well forget it, brother. Justine beats any woman I ever saw you with, and she’s got your number, too. Want to play some cut throat?”
He ran his hands over a piece of ebony wood that he wanted to carve when he got time. Whenever he saw Tonya’s face blossom into a spontaneous grin, he wanted to engrave the image to keep it for all time. He studied his sister. Even as a small child, she’d had nearly infallible judgment about people. Perhaps if she and Justine were left alone, she could understand the puzzling relationship between Justine and Tonya. And maybe she’d remember whether Justine had previously been a part of their lives. He didn’t want to cross examine Justine or to appear to distrust her, because he did trust her. It was a good time to check on the boys “East of the River.”
“Not tonight, Sis. I’ve got a couple of errands to run. Why don’t you keep Justine company? And try not to say everything that pops into your head.”
“I don’t do that, Duncan, which is why I haven’t said you and Justine circle each other like a couple of Roman gladiators.” She grinned as if savoring a sweet and wicked thing. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you two admit your little stand-off is useless.”
He appraised her with brotherly indulgence. “You’re hopeless. Justine has the guest room, so you sleep in the front bedroom.” He hugged her. “See you in the morning.”
He ran upstairs, got into the “street” clothes that he wore when roaming the slums for a story, covered up with a top coat, and slipped downstairs and into the garage. He removed the coat after he got in the car, zipped up his shabby black leather jacket, pulled on a woolen cap and headed for “East of the River.” His beeper rang, and he picked-up his cell phone and called back.
“Say, Pops, this is Mitch. Hope I’m not botherin’ you? Man, but I thought you’d wanna know some guys about to get a rumble started.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“L Street.”
“Thanks. I’ll be there.”
“Watch it though, Pops. They’re going with equalizers. It’s Ghana and Kenya, man, so you better stay cool.”
“Gotcha, Mitch.”
He hung up. Mitch and Rags always used code names for the area’s toughest gangs in the event that they might be overheard. Equalizers meant the boys would have guns and knives. In a gang rumble, especially that kind, he didn’t stand a chance of making a difference; best he could do was report the news.
“Come on in,” Justine told Banks, in response to her light tap on the door. “Where’s Duncan?”
“He had a couple of errands to run, so I guess it’s you and me.”
Though she hadn’t thought she would be, Justine was glad for Banks’s company. The phone had rung twice in the past fifteen minutes, and each time she answered, only silence greeted her ears. If the caller knew that Duncan had left the house…She pushed back the thought.
“Tonya’s asleep, but yo
u may peep in on her if you like. She’s growing so fast.” Why was she nervous?
Banks leaned against the door and propped her right hand on her hip. “I’ll see her in the morning. How’s your writing?”
“How much writing can I do?”
Banks walked into the room and ran her fingers over the silk kimono that lay across a chair. “Good question. I see you’ve got a rich woman’s taste. Say, why don’t you ask my brother to bring you over to Frederick for a weekend so we can get to know each other. You can also have a mini vacation, because our mother will be delighted to look after her only grandchild.”
Justine hoped her startled expression didn’t register with Banks. It was another reminder that Tonya didn’t belong to her. She pasted a grin on her face. “I’d like that little vacation, but why do you…”
Banks cut her off. “We might as well start off right, Justine. I believe in facing facts. You are not going out of Duncan’s life anytime soon.” She let her gaze sweep Justine’s bedroom, and Justine knew she was about to change the subject. “I never could figure out why Duncan put these washed-out colors in here. Dusty rose would have looked a lot better with this blue.”
“You’re probably right, Banks, but I’ve gotten used to it, and I find it restful.”
Banks laid her head to one side in a frank appraisal of the woman facing her. “Yeah. Have you found anything wrong with him yet?”
“What?”
Justine gazed at the twinkles, so much like Duncan’s, that danced in Banks’s reddish-brown eyes. “Just checking, I think I’ll turn in. I have to get up early, and that’s against my principles. See ya in the morning.”
Justine told her good night and gazed at her back as she left. She’d wanted the company, but she had a sense of relief that Banks had decided to go to bed. The woman missed nothing and had no qualms about commenting on what she saw. Justine switched on WMAL-TV for the local news round-up in time to see policemen herd a group of young boys into squad cars after a gang fight in Capitol View, while camera men documented the scene for the morning headlines and TV new stories. Several bystanders had been injured, and the police had their hands full dispersing the crowd. Her first thought was of Duncan. She didn’t know where he had gone, but she suspected that his reporter’s nose was on the trail of a story. Maybe that one. Wherever he was, she prayed he’d be careful. Anxious, she paced the floor, glancing at her watch every few minutes and listening for the sound of the Buick entering the garage. Well after midnight, she undressed and went to bed, but unable to sleep, got up and sat beside the window. She couldn’t make herself move until she heard the motor as the car slowed down and turned into the driveway. Quickly, she got into bed, turned off the light on her night table and closed her eyes. In four years of marriage, she’d never stayed up until almost daybreak worrying about Kenneth’s safety. She thought about that over and over, her belly knotting with fear at the implications.
“Do you know about that gang war in Capitol View last night?” Justine asked Duncan at breakfast that morning.
“I caught it on the news just before I came down.” He chewed his bacon, absentmindedly she thought, and leaned back in his chair. “If so many boys didn’t hang out on the street because they hate where they live, gangs wouldn’t seem so attractive to them. The city doesn’t have the resources to cope with it.”
He wasn’t telling all, but he was entitled to his secrets, and she wouldn’t press him. After the night she’d spent worrying about him, she was too happy to see him sitting there all in one piece.
She accepted the coffee that he poured for her. “You care deeply, don’t you?”
As though she’d spoken the obvious, he shrugged. “I could be one of those kids, Justine. When I was seven, our landlord put my family and everything we had out on the street on one of the coldest days I ever knew, because my dad couldn’t pay four hundred dollars in back rent. The experience gave my father the heart attack that took him from us. But our mother used the insurance money to move us to Frederick, Maryland, where she bought an interest in The Watering Hole and made a down payment on our home. I’ve never forgotten that day, and I’ll do whatever I can to help children caught in that kind of trap.”
So he had been in Capital View. She wanted to ask him how he’d anticipated the trouble, but instead said, “At least you had your mother.”
He rested his cup with what seemed like special care and spoke softly, “You didn’t?”
She had to tread carefully. “I was five when she died.”
“What about your father?”
She’d known he’d get to that. “He did the best he could, I guess, letting my two aunts take care of me. But they were long on discipline and short on affection. Both of them seemed to think the most important thing was making a lady out of me. Never mind how lonely I got.”
“They didn’t have children?”
She shook her head. “Neither of them. The younger one was married, and the older one was widowed, though she had a ‘friend.’ A circumspect one, mind you.”
“And your father?”
That was the question she’d hoped he wouldn’t ask. “She sucked in her breath and girded herself in preparation for grilling, reporter style. “I…I displeased him some years ago, and he’s scratched me off his list of the living.” When his brows furrowed in a deep frown, she terminated the discussion with, “So that’s my story. Wonder why Banks is sleeping so late.”
His reaction to what he’d heard was not as she had expected. Instead of an impersonal cross-examination, he responded with the gentleness that she’d seen in him so many times. “Leah doesn’t get up until she has to.” He said it quickly as though anxious to get back to the subject of Justine. “No wonder you’re so giving, so full of…of…of warmth and…and affection.”
Needing to protect herself, she lowered her gaze, lest the tender compassion mirrored in his eyes unsettle her. She hadn’t made a mistake when she’d moved into his home, trusting him with her life. The affection for him that surged within her must have shown in her facial expression, for his mood seemed to lighten and, with his right hand, he reached across the table, pulled her left little finger, and continued to hold it while they sipped their coffee in contented silence. The sweet moments ended when Banks struggled into the dining room.
“Anything important happen since I last saw you two?” she asked.
Justine could see in his smile how much he adored his sister. “Morning, Leah. What do you want to eat?” She’d eat whatever he was willing to prepare, she told him, aware that Mattie stopped cooking at eight-thirty.
“He’s a genuine peach, Justine,” Banks said after Duncan went to the kitchen. “I’m single, because I could never find a guy like him.”
Justine could believe that. “What about Wayne?”
Banks reached for the coffee Justine handed her. “Notice I said could never. I didn’t say can’t ever. There’s a difference.”
Justine couldn’t help laughing aloud. “All right. All right. Wayne belongs in the present tense.”
“And if he wants to stay there,” Duncan drawled, putting Leah’s plate in front of her, “he’ll toe the line.”
“What?” Banks yelled.
“You heard me. If you don’t make him do it, I will.”
Intrigued, Justine asked Duncan, “Who makes you toe the line?”
“You do, and you will,” he said, without a shred of humor.
Banks swallowed the last of Duncan’s blueberry pancakes and looked toward the ceiling. “Oh. Oh. Here we go. The gladiators are at it again. Justine, if I didn’t know better, I’d think a bomb dropped right in front of you. Pull up your bottom lip, girlfriend. Say, I gotta get out of here.”
Justine watched Banks streak toward the stairs at a speed of which she wouldn’t have thought her capable. Everything about Duncan’s sister was laid back. She said as much to him.
“When it comes to her responsibilities, she doesn’t fool around. Nobody is more reli
able than my sister,” he said, with obvious pride.
“I’m going to pop in on Tonya for a couple of minutes,” Banks yelled down to them. “Could you call me a taxi?”
“I’ll drive you down as soon as I get these dishes in the dishwasher and look in on Tonya for a few minutes. I don’t like to leave home without spending a little time with her.”
They left, and as soon as she got the baby comfortable, Justine called her father. Her conversation with Duncan had reopened those old wounds, the longing she’d always had for the only parent she knew. She had hurt him when she married Kenneth, his opponent for the Assembly seat. The two men had waged a bitter campaign, falsely accusing each other of unsavory deeds that in no way impinged upon their ability as legislators, and they had been equally guilty of the mud-slinging. She had begged Kenneth not to enter the race, but he had despised her father’s politics—as she did—and made every effort he could to silence him.
She had loved Kenneth, but she might not have married him if her father hadn’t forbade it—if he hadn’t demanded that she choose between them.
“May I please speak with Mr. Arnold Taylor?” she asked the crisp, officious voice.
“Who’s calling, please?”
Justine took a deep breath. “Justine Taylor. His daughter.”
“One moment, please.”
Justine held the phone away from her and stared at it as though it held a mystery. The women knew she was Arnold Taylor’s daughter, but refused to acknowledge that fact to her, no matter how often she called.
“I’m sorry, Madam. The Assemblyman is busy. Would you care to leave a message?”
She shut off the word, no, as it slipped toward the end of her tongue. She would send the message that she’d buried in her heart while she waited for him to agree to hear it. “Yes. Tell him…Please tell him I love him.”
Fools Rush In Page 9
