“I’ve never been dishonest with you, Rufus.” She tried to look past him in an effort to hide from the accuracy of his assessment. “I may not tell you everything you want to know, but I don’t lie to you.” He stood before her, self-possessed and comfortable with himself, his tall, sinewy bulk blocking out everything and everybody else from her vision, the same way thoughts of him had begun to crowd other people and things from her mind.
He’s taking over my life without even trying or wanting to. Why should I be defensive, she asked herself, looked up into his shadowed gaze, and was stunned by what she saw. He regarded her with a look that seemed to say he adored her soft sepia beauty, and she quickly shifted her eyes from his. When she glanced back at him, she was solemn. “Talk’s easy done; it takes money to buy land, my grandpa always says. You try facing your personal problems head on and being honest about them even when it might knock you from your pedestal. Try it, I’m going up to my room now; maybe I’ll see you later this evening.”
Naomi started past the huge marble columns to the elevator and stopped when she heard a man exclaim, “Cat Meade! It’s been years, man. What’s happening? How’s the old clavicle? Still holding together?” And while she waited for the glass elevator to arrive, another and still another old friend greeted him joyously. One of them inquired, “How you doing, man? Who was that fox I saw you talking with just now?” Naomi didn’t hear Rufus’s reply, but she managed to get a good look at the hopeful smiles of several women and the bright welcome of others who stood in the ornate reception area waiting to register. It was Cat Meade’s world, and it seemed as if everyone around wanted to be a part of it. She could have been proud, but he hadn’t given her the right to take a personal interest in him. Nor had she decided that she wanted that right.
When she reached her room, the phone was ringing. She let it ring. Her gaze took in the soothing beige and blue decor, and satisfied with the room, she began to unpack. The phone rang and she relented; who but Rufus would be calling her? She knew, too, the reason for his call. With his bulldog tenacity, he must certainly be a great journalist. She tried to remember what she might have said to set his curiosity juices flowing.
“Hello.”
“Naomi, could we get together either in your room or mine for a few minutes? I want to talk with you, and we won’t have any privacy in the hotel’s public areas. Say, twenty minutes?”
“Twenty minutes suits me. We can talk here, and I’ll order some coffee and a couple of sandwiches. Is that all right?”
He agreed, and she ordered the food, unpacked, and sat on the edge of her bed waiting for him. Naomi knew she had to solve her dilemma, and soon; the effect was crippling her and maybe others as well. What did she feel for Rufus? She wasn’t ready to name it, but she admitted that she couldn’t even contemplate not having him in her life. She had avoided involvements successfully for over thirteen years. No longer; Rufus had changed that. And there was her son. Before she’d known that her child’s adoptive parents were trying to find her, she’d hidden her experience of motherhood. But she knew now that she could see him, and wouldn’t rest until she did. Maybe she could even get to know him and explain that she hadn’t wanted to give him up, that she’d been pressured, that she’d been a child herself.
She had to know ether he or his family needed her. That meant breaking all ties with Rufus and his children, because Rufus would see in her every fault that he’d found with his wife and his mother, and he would coldly scorn her. She was probably going to damage beyond repair the reputation and credibility that she had worked so hard to establish. Leaving One Last Chance would be one of the most onerous and prophetic penalties of all. Well, she rationalized, she would still have her work; commercial artists needn’t be identified. If only she was sure that she was ready to face it all. From royalty to servitude in a single step; in matters relating to the morals of women, the African American upper and upper-middle classes in Washington, D.C., were unforgiving. Naomi sighed. Well, so be it.
She answered his soft knock. One look at him and she knew the conference wasn’t on his mind. He didn’t waste a minute. “What are you facing that can knock you off your pedestal, Naomi?” The precision with which she had described her dilemma registered with her then, and her own carelessness and the accuracy with which he had divined the meaning of her words shocked her.
“I was talking about you, not me. You’re the one with the public acclaim and adulation,” she bluffed.
“But I don’t have any personal secrets that could knock me off my pedestal. Your words. So what were you talking about if not something pertaining to yourself?”
He paced the richly carpeted floor. “Sometimes, Naomi, when you’re in my arms, you electrify me; you wipe out every pain—real or imagined—that I’ve ever had. Sometimes, when you’re so giving—the way you were Thanksgiving night—I feel as if I’m just beginning to know what life is about. At other times, like now, you make me feel hollow inside, because you’re not being straight with me. I know you feel something for me, and it’s deep. But you’re afraid to trust me with your feelings, your secrets, or your pain.”
He grinned unexpectedly. “Have it your way, sweetheart; you’re not indebted to me. You can say what you want and do as you damned please. See you around.” The grin hadn’t covered the dismal expression she’d seen on his face and been powerless to wipe away.
The doorbell rang and she rushed up the three steps leading to the foyer to answer it, thinking that he might have had a change of heart and returned, but it was the bellboy, wheeling in a linen-covered table on which were two elegant place settings, two carafes of coffee, two sandwiches, the standard pickles, and a bill for forty-one dollars, tax included. She paid the bill and sent him away, along with the overpriced fare.
She stood in the middle of the richly decorated room, at a loss, looked around, and saw the package of materials that Rufus had so carefully assembled for her. She could…her shoulders drooped; she could do what? She wished she had been better schooled in the ways, wants, and needs of the modern male. Nonagenarians? She could give a seminar on those. Naomi laughed at herself. She could be miserable, or she could telephone Rufus and talk with him. Anything, just as long as she had contact with him.
While she dialed, a niggling voice demanded: why are you doing this? Either you walk away cleanly or you take a chance, trust him, and tell him everything.
“Meade.” Was he really as impatient as he sounded? She drew in her breath and identified herself.
“Why did you call me, Naomi?”
Truth. Tell him the truth, her common sense preached. “I just wanted to talk.”
“What? I just left you. What changed your mood? That is, if it’s changed.”
“Rufus, I’ve…I’ve avoided entanglements since I was…well, most of my adult life. I’ve avoided them because I can’t commit to a lasting relationship, and I have wanted to avoid hurting anyone or getting hurt. You sneaked up on me.” His silence cut her.
“Actually, I was calling to ask if we could go to the dinner dance together, unless you’re going with someone else.” He still hadn’t responded. “Well, if you’d rather not talk…I’m sorry I disturbed you. But you did say that I had a right to invite you out, even across state lines, and this is just a matter of getting on the elevator and going downstairs.”
“Cut it out, Naomi,” he growled. “For just this once, if you’re hurting, for God’s sake, let it show. If you need me, damn it, tell me! Tell me!”
She uttered a deep, labored sigh and whispered, “I need you.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She hung up and had to fight the tears. Oh my Lord! I love him. I love him.
He had been coasting, taking it as it came, because she had become important to him, and he couldn’t will himself to walk out of her life and stay out. Not until ten minutes ago. He had me
ant what he said. But because he cared, he would open his ears and his heart and listen to her.
He stepped into the room with arms open, and she melted into them eagerly and expectantly. But he didn’t intend to precipitate a torrent of desire between them. He wanted them to understand each other, to communicate at a meaningful level, so he crushed her to him and quickly stepped away.
Her discomfort was evident, and he understood the emptiness, the yearning for completion that her demeanor communicated to him, because he also felt it. When she tried by gesture and stance to deny it, throwing her head back and smiling a forced, vacant smile, he shook her shoulders gently.
“It’s okay to need, Naomi, and it’s okay to need me.” She leaned toward him, but he stepped away, determined that they should speak with clear heads. He had never attempted to bring about a meaningful understanding between them because he hadn’t decided that it was what he wanted. And his indecision stemmed partly from her deliberate efforts to prevent him from knowing her real self by throwing up screen after screen whenever he got close. But he was no longer going to accept any shamming from her—not if he recognized it. And he was going to find out what they meant to each other and why she could burn up in his arms and then downplay the relationship whenever it suited her.
She looked at him openly, letting him see that she hurt. “You say it’s all right for me to need you, but you don’t mean it deep down, and it’s just as well. You and I both know that I’m not what you need; I’ve got a career that I love, and you can’t tolerate that.”
A note of censure laced his voice, irritation evident, as it usually was when anyone second-guessed him, but he pushed his annoyance aside. “Shouldn’t you leave that to me? I’m more than capable of deciding who and what I need and what I can tolerate.” He leaned against the door and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets, out of reach of temptation. “And let’s get this straight: I never said I couldn’t tolerate career women. What I said, in effect, was that women who place their careers before their children and their family risk impairing the welfare of their family, and especially their children. If you had listened to the entire program, and if you had read my books all the way through and with an open mind, you’d know that I also emphasize the man’s role in family disorganization and adolescent delinquency. So stop misquoting me. And let’s get back to the subject.” She seemed to relax, and he gained the impression that she was considerably relieved by his explanation.
Her eyes held an expression of longing as she gazed at him. “Rufus, I’m trying to tell you that I don’t have anything more to give.” He regarded her intently, sensing that insecurity was at the root of her insistence on their incompatibility. If she’d allow their relationship to follow its natural course, she’d discover that they had plenty in common. He didn’t have much hope for that, but he had to persevere for his own sake.
“I know you feel that way,” he told her, “and you may even be right, but sharing changes things.”
“What do you want, Rufus?”
Was he having a hearing problem? She couldn’t possibly be serious. “I want you, Naomi. Beyond that, I don’t know. And I won’t know until you give us a chance, until you let me know who you are. You took a big step when you called me, and also when you told me that you have problems that complicate your life, limit your options.”
“I said that?”
“In effect, you definitely did. And you told me that you need me; as long as you do, Naomi, I’ll be here for you.” Etta Mae hadn’t needed him, but for all her posturing and clever tongue, Naomi did, and so did his boys. And they could rely on him as long as he had breath and strength.
He watched Naomi carefully, already sensitive to every change in her. “Don’t close yourself off from me, Naomi; I’m not going to hurt you. And promise me you’ll stop concealing your emotions behind clever comments. Why do you do that, anyway?”
He stifled the desire that coursed through him when she raised her left hand and brushed aside the unruly hair that nearly hid her left eye. “Is that what I’m doing? Well, you met my grandfather. Can you imagine being indoctrinated by him from the age of seven, when he was already seventy-three? At least twice a day he told me to control myself, that tears were unacceptable, and that you didn’t let other people see any weakness in you. He even discouraged my showing him any weakness.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I guess he would do that; he was too old for such responsibility.” Mention of Judd reminded him of their torrid dance at the gala.
“Do you really want me to accompany you to the dinner dance?” He gazed quizzically at her, purposefully mischievous, his white teeth framing a deliberately roguish grin. “I shouldn’t think you’d be willing to risk dancing in public with me again.”
“Why not? I may even repay you. I think I’m entitled to that, don’t you?”
“Depends. I’ll look forward to it.” He draped an arm loosely around her shoulders.
She snuggled closer. “Depends on what?”
“As with most risks in this life,” he explained solemnly, “whether you should gamble depends on your willingness to live with the consequences.” He felt her tremble and held her to him. Then he noticed the quiver of her lower lip and was puzzled as to why she should be nervous. What was it? He had a driving desire to protect her. But from what?
“Sometimes, we have little choice.” Her voice seemed small and came to him as if from a considerable distance.
He shushed her. “When you’re ready to tell me everything, to trust me, Naomi, we’ll work through whatever it is together. Don’t dribble it out; I don’t think I could handle that.”
She leaned closer, as if unconsciously borrowing his strength. “I don’t understand, Rufus. Why are you bothering? A smart man wouldn’t invest any of himself in me when he’s been warned that a serious relationship is out of the question.”
“I’ve already invested a lot of myself in you, and whether or not you admit it, we’ve been in a serious relationship almost from the time we met. I finish whatever I start, and I’ve started something with you. I don’t fish often, Naomi; I’ve never cared much for the sport. But when I do catch a fish, believe me, I don’t throw it back into the water.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d rather not leave you right now. It’s poor strategy to walk out of a negotiation when it’s going your way, but I’m chair of a committee that’s meeting in twelve minutes.”
“Is this going your way?”
“It’s going our way, Naomi. You’re talking to me and you’re listening with more than your ears.” He squeezed her to him, lifted her chin, and searched her eyes. She glanced shyly away, but what he had seen satisfied him.
“You have something to give me, Naomi, something that’s real, and I want it.” He kissed her then, quickly, gently, and possessively.
“You can’t just ignore what I’ve been telling you, Rufus: I’m not for you; I can’t be. I just can’t!” But he sensed a wavering of her resolve, as he held her firmly but tenderly by the shoulders and let his gaze roam over her lovely coffee-colored face and her long, curly black tresses before seeking her eyes. It was her eyes that had first captivated him. Dark eyes. Large, wistful eyes that spoke silently of her innocence, her pain, and her longing. Eyes filled with mischief. Eyes that sometimes said, “I hurt.” And eyes that could grow dark and sultry with hot desire. He had a sudden impulse to take her and go somewhere, anywhere, where he could have her to himself, but it was a fleeting urge; he was not ready to make a total commitment to her, though he was far from certain that he never would be. She had become more important to him than he would have thought possible even a week earlier.
Naomi lowered her eyes under his intense appraisal, and he was glad that she seemed to misunderstand his mood. “There’s no place for us to go, Rufus; I think we ought to stop seeing each other.” He didn’t have to be clairvoya
nt to know that those words had caused her pain. But she laid back her shoulders, raised her chin, and smiled tremulously. God! He admired her!
He quirked his left eyebrow and summoned what he considered his made-to-order noncommittal grin. “You know, it never occurred to me that you might be daft, Naomi.” The grin swiftly vanished, and he projected a serious, almost severe mien.
“Can that idea, sweetheart. Don’t even dream it. I’ll meet you in the coffee shop at eight o’clock.” He tipped her chin up with his right index finger and studied her, trying to see beyond what she was showing. Then he tangled his fingers in her thick hair, gave her a quick kiss, and left her standing there, speechless.
After a while, she moved, dreamlike, to the balcony and stood fingering the glossy green leaves of the magnolia tree that thrived there in a large wooden tub. Restless, she stroked the satin-smooth wooden arm of the swing as if it had human properties, as if it were Rufus, then sat down and stared at the floor. She needed to get rid of the load she was carrying, to talk to somebody. But to whom? Rufus had said he’d be there for her. She put her flat palms on her knees and tapped her fingers. She wanted to believe he’d open his heart to her and give her a place that she’d never had, a place where she could leave her anxieties, her heart’s wounds, and her inner turmoil, but she didn’t think any such man existed. Besides, Rufus couldn’t even contemplate what a mess her life was.
She thought of the prizes at stake and wanted to take a chance. Then she remembered the penalties. She hadn’t ever let anything beat her down, and she wouldn’t now; she had made her choice, and she’d stay with it. She had to know her son.
Sealed With a Kiss Page 18
