A Merry Little Christmas (16 page)

When Paris didn’t return immediately, Angelique’s curiosity made her go to the reception area to see what became of her. “Paris, who was that at the
…” 
Her voice faded away as she looked into the amused eyes of Donnie.

Paris also looked quite entertained as she waved at her cousin, then left, saying, “See you later, Angel. Have a good trip, Donnie.” Angelique made a mental note to do something really bad to Paris at her earliest convenience. In the meantime, she concentrated on looking composed. “Hello, Adonis. What can I do for you today?” she asked politely.

Donnie was looking better than any man had a right to at that hour of the morning—at any hour of the day, as a matter of fact; the man was ridiculously handsome. He was wearing a beautifully cut, tan cashmere topcoat over a charcoal-gray suit no doubt custom-tailored to accommodate his height. His leather gloves were in one hand and his over-the-shoulder briefcase was sitting by the door. While she took in every detail of his appearance, Donnie was looking around her studio with great interest. Angelique cleared her throat and repeated her question. “What is it that I can do for you?” she said more sharply than she intended.

“I’m here because I wanted to see you. I haven’t seen you since the party, and I never told you thank you for your hospitality. It was a good time. My dad is still talking about that gumbo,” he said with a smile as he shoved his gloves into this coat pocket.

“Even though I’m the one who made it?” she said with a slight grin.

Donnie dropped his head for a moment,
and
then looked up with a plea in his eyes. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you? It was a mistake, I admit it.”

At the party, when the buffet had been laid out and people started eating the wonderful repast, Donnie had looked at Paris and said “Girl, you put your
foot
in this gumbo. This is the best I’ve ever had.”

Paris had smiled and said “Well, thanks, Donnie, but I didn’t make that. Angelique is the real cook, I just kind of putter around
.
”

Remembering the scene, Angelique gave him a grudging look of amusement. “Hard as it is to believe, I can do a few things, Adonis.”

Now it was his turn to smile. “You know something? I never liked my name. Never could stand it, it was just too affected for me. But I like the way it sounds when you say it. I know you use my name to irritate me, but it sounds really sexy coming from your mouth.”

Angelique’s eyes widened and she took a step backward even though they weren’t standing close. She was still in the entrance to the reception area and he was in the middle of the room. Donnie could sense her nervousness and he wanted to put her at ease as soon as possible, though that might be difficult, given what he’d come to say. It was his turn to check her out and he liked what he saw, very, very much.

“You’re looking very stylish today. Beautiful, in fact,” Donnie said appreciatively. He enjoyed the faint pinkness that spread along her cheekbones at his comp
liment, but he meant every word;
Angelique looked like a high-fashion model. She was dressed in a stunning black outfit: a pair of slacks with a kimono-styled jacket over a white tunic with an asymmetrical, mandarin-styled collar. She looked
courant
and avant-garde, yet professional. Her hair was once again worn in a updo, but this time it was sleekly styled off
her face and had two abalone chopsticks stuck though it. She smelled differently, though, and Donnie tried to place the scent. “You have on a new perfume today, what
is it
?” he asked.

Angelique was so surprised by the question that she answered
him
without hesitation.
“Cashmere Mist.”

Donnie filed that information away for future reference. “I like it. It’s as nice as the other one you wear.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” she said snidely. “I live for that, you know.”

He liked the look of her studio; it was done in calming neutral colors and had a clean, minimalist effect, due to the lack of doodads. The walls were done in eggshell and the taupe furniture consisted of a long sofa and two chairs. Aside from a coffee table with magazines, a simple but elegant floor lamp and two ficus trees, there was nothing in the room except a few photographs on the walls, all in black and white. The space looked sophisticated and artistic.

“This is a nice place, Angel. But it doesn’t look like you,” Donnie said honestly. “It’s too cold, too impersonal. I don’t know you as well as I should, but I can tell you that this room isn’t anything like you.”

Angelique blinked and then shook herself quickly. She crossed her arms as if she was chilly and needed the warmth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Adonis. This room is exactly like me. Cold and impersonal, that’s me all over,” she said hotly, as she returned to the main work space. To her displeasure, Donnie followed her.

This room was neat as a pin, but it was much more colorful, with some color shots on the walls as well. There was a large table in the center of the room with a big zipper portfolio laid on it, neatly stacked prints arranged around it. The walls were lined with cabinets that stored her equipment. She was trying to look busy at the table when Donnie’s voice stopped her movements.

“Oh, no, you’re not. You’re as far from being cold and impersonal as it’s possible for one person to be. This room looks more like you. This room and your house, that’s you. Warm, vibrant and creative,” he told her. The look of confusion in Angelique’s eyes touched him to his heart and also made him get to the point
. He wasn’t here to torture her;
quite the opposite. “Look, Angel, I’m going out of town. I’ll be gone all week, but when I get back, I’d like to take you out. I think it’s time we stopped ignoring this attraction and did something about it, don’t you?”

Angelique was so surprised by his words, she couldn’t answer at first. Then she said the first thing that came to her
min
d: a resounding no. “No, I don’t. I don’t think that’s a good idea at all, Adonis.”

He closed the gap between them in one step and put his left hand on her shoulder. With his right hand he tilted her chin up,
then
placed a soft, moist kiss on her lips. “I told you, I like the sound of my name on your lips. I like a lot of other things about you, too. And I
think
you like me, at least a little. Say you’ll go out with me, just for dinner,” he coaxed.

“I... I...” Angelique valiantly tried to remember why this was a bad idea. He was standing so close, the warmth of his body was igniting hers; his body chemistry was making his aftershave into an aphrodisiac and his lips felt wonderful, even for that short moment. Just as she was about to say no again, he touched his lips to her cheekbone, and the warmth spread over her like a blanket of passion.

“Say yes, Angel. Please say yes,” he said softly.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “Yes, I will.”

After Donnie left the office, Angelique was ready to sit down for a long time and think about what had just happened. Despite all her efforts to stay in control, she was trembling. And today was just not the day for that, not when she had to go the museum to meet with the director. If it weren’t for the fact that A.J. was coming with her, she’d have been a wreck.

***

He showed up to collect her a little bit earlier than they’d agreed on and she was truly glad to see him. She gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then asked him why he was so early. “Not that I’m not glad to see you. I’m glad you’re here,” she said inhaling his familiar scent. “You look very handsome. She’s not going to pay me a bit of attention with you sitting there looking gorgeous.”

He did look rakishly charming as always, this time in pleated black trousers, a black cable knit turtleneck and his long leather coat that made him look like a model. Although his long dreadlocks were gone as a result of the chemotherapy, he had a start on new ones in the form of a
headful
of black curls that spiraled every which way. He shrugged off the comment and concentrated on Angelique.

“I came early so I could see how nervous you are,” he replied. He looked her over from head to toe and nodded approvingly. “You clean up nice. You look very uptown, just like a seasoned professional. Love the chopsticks.”

“Thanks for the compliment. That’s the second one I’ve gotten today. This is my serious-artist drag,” she said with a short laugh. “Now let’s just hope it impresses Miss Shabazz.”

A
.
J. put his long, strong hands on her shoulders and gave her a little shake, quickly followed by another embrace. “Look, sweetie, I keep telling you you’re the real deal. Your talent will speak for itself. Get your coat and your other goods and chattels and let’s get going. You’re going to knock her socks off,” he promised her.

Angelique gave him a shaky smile of gratitude. “I just hope you’re right.”

In a short while, they were shown into Aneesah’s sunny office at the museum. She met them at the door wearing a chic navy pantsuit with a beautiful
Kente
cloth throw over one shoulder. Her smooth brown face glowed and her shining black hair shone with good health; not a hair of her stylish, short coiffure was out of place. “Good morning! I’m so glad to meet you both,” she said with a warm sincerity that immediately put Angelique at ease. She showed them to comfortable chairs and made pleasant small talk while offering coffee or tea. Soon it seemed AJ.’s prediction proved correct: she was completely impressed with everything she saw in Angelique’s portfolio. After A.J. and Angelique set the mounted matted pictures on the easels placed in the office for that purpose, Aneesah went into her own little world.

She was talking softly to herself and blotting moisture from her eyes, and then looked up with a huge smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually go off like that, but I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” she admitted. “I’ve seen some of your work in
Hour
magazine, and in
Elle,
but these are just incredible. Tell me again how you got started.”

Angelique took a deep breath and looked at A.J., who raised one brow and gave her a nod of encouragement. “Well,” she began, “my brother Clay was a photojoumalist. That was his passion; it had been for as long as I can remember. He used to have a camera with him all the
time. He took pictures of everything and he’s the one who taught me how to use a camera. I used up roll after roll of film taking all kinds of terrible pictures.” She laughed at the memory. “Clay was really patient with me, though. He traveled a lot, but whenever he was home he’d show me something new, how to set up a sho
t, how to use different cameras and
he even showed me how to develop. I never really did anything with it until years later, though.”

She paused for a moment and glanced at A.J. again. “My family’s company, the Deveraux Group, has about twenty different magazines and about fifteen newspapers, as I’m sure you’re aware. After I tried college, my brothers tried to find something for me to do in the company. I kind of went from place to place, from department, to department, wreaking havoc everywhere.

“I was the prototype of the spoiled little debutante. In fact, I was the gold standard of the Black American Princess, too cute to work and too rotten to stay in school. Luckily, my sister-in-law Vera had the compassion and foresight to put me with A.J.” She looked at him again, this time giving him a huge smile that lit up the room.

“A.J. let me work as his assistant, and that’s where my education in photography was continued. He taught me everything he knows about photography. Trust me when I tell you he’s forgotten more than I’ll ever know. He also taught me how to be a professional, how to respect my craft and the people with whom I associate. He taught me how to be an adult, basically. When he decided to leave fashion photography and make documentaries, I went with him and I took pictures of everything I saw. I met so many wonderful people and learned so much, I can never repay him. I owe everything to this man,” she said passionately.

By now A.J. was looking a bit uncomfortable with this praise, and Aneesah was looking at him with distinct interest. He tried to deflect the plaudits by pointing out that Angelique’s vision was totally her own. “Regardless of what she says, you can see her talent in the prints. She has a gift for capturing the essence of the moment and making a story
come
alive in a photograph, which is, of course, what art is all about.”

Aneesah agreed wholeheartedly. “I completely concur. These African women are all so beautiful, but there’s so much more than beauty in their faces. Were these all taken in one place?”

“Yes, they were, they were all from the same village. All those women have either full-blown AIDS or they’re HIV-positive,” Angelique said quietly. “All those women have children, all of whom also have AIDS and HIV. And their husbands, who were infected by women working as prostitutes to support their families, infected each of them. This is a hard fact of life in many parts of Africa, unfortunately. I have pictures of the children, also, but I didn’t know if you’d be interested in them.”

Aneesah’s face wore an unreadable expression and she was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but I have an MFA in art history and my doctorate work is in cultural anthropology. What your pictures are depicting was a large part of my dissertation. I’d very much like to see those pictures. More importantly, I think that the public in general would like to
see your pictures. I think they
need
to see your pictures. Like these pictures of women working; I’m in complete awe of them.”