Lessons From a Younger Lover (2 page)

Ransom Noel Blake stretched six feet and three inches of caramel sweetness out on a canvas lounge chair, covered only by a loose-fitting pair of white swim trunks. His coal black hair, which unbound neared his waist, was pulled back in a loose ponytail, providing an unobstructed view of his thick, naturally arched eyebrows, Iroquoian cheekbones, tapered nose, and cupid-shaped lips. He reached up to flick an annoying insect away from his face, and his perfectly cut abdomen rippled with the movement. It was ninety-five degrees and climbing in the desert, but not only did Ransom have a high tolerance level for the sun's baking rays, he was also, quite simply, too tired to care.

But he was pleased. His firm, Blake Construction, had come in on time and under budget on their latest project. This fact was all the more satisfying because of how his half brother, Adam, had tried to thwart his bid and when that failed, to throw wrenches in their progress at every turn. But Ransom's crew was smart and their boss was smarter. When the first recess bell rang for the children of Sienna Elementary School's new school year, they'd run out and play on a brand new, state-of-the-art playground or in an equally impressive indoor gym and game center, courtesy of Ransom and company.

The melodic tone from his iPhone interrupted Ransom's musings. He reached for it lazily. “Blake.”

“You're probably not expecting congratulations from me.”

“Adam.”

“I know I was a pain in the ass sometimes, but the job looks great.”

Ransom opened his eyes and sat up in the chair. “Okay, brother, what do you want?”

Adam chuckled. “Why does it have to be like that?”

“It doesn't, but that's how it is.”

Adam couldn't deny that his half brother was right. Fifteen years his junior, Ransom had attributes Adam no longer possessed, if he ever did. He'd left for college when Ransom was a toddler, and they'd never developed a close relationship. Add to that what Adam viewed as preferential treatment of Ransom by their mother, Ransom's small yet successful business and easy way with women, and Adam's competitiveness—and there was little room left for brotherly love.

“Okay, little brother, I was calling for a favor,” Adam admitted.

“Uh-huh.”

“I was wondering if I could handle the Porsche for a couple of days.”

“What's wrong with your car?”

“Nothing. I'm just, you know, wanting to impress a certain female.”

Ransom suppressed a sigh as he eased off the lounge chair and down the steps of his backyard pool. He immersed himself to the waist before answering.

“And what are you going to do when this certain female finds out it's not your car?”

“I'm trying to fuck the girl, Ransom, not marry her!”

“I hope you're as clear about that with her as you are with me.”

“Look, don't try to school me in lessons of love. I could teach an advanced study course on the subject, know what I'm sayin'?”

No, and probably neither does your ex-wife.

“Daddy, Daddy!”

Ransom looked up as his daughter ran toward him. His heart burst with joy, as it always did at the sight of his princess. “Look, man, I gotta go.”

“Okay, then. But can I use the ride?”

“Sure, Adam. You can keep it until I get back from Vegas. I'm leaving in a few days and will be gone about a week.”

“Perfect! Thanks, bro.”

Ransom's daughter, Isis, ran to the edge of the pool. “Look, Daddy. Miss Carol bought us all bracelets. Aren't they cute, Daddy?” She showed off a colorful plastic bangle jangling on her tiny wrist.

“Beautiful, baby girl. Almost as beautiful as you.”

Isis beamed, even as she covered her face. “Daddy!”

“I hope you don't mind, Ransom. They were on sale so I bought one for all the girls. Umm, that looks inviting.”

Ransom looked up at his daughter's playmate's mom, Carol Connors, and wondered if she were talking about the pool or the person in it.

“I don't have my swimsuit but if you don't mind skinny-dipping…”

He had his answer. “Thanks again, Carol,” he said as he eased himself out of the water and reached for the towel that was draped on the lounge chair. “I really appreciate your help with Isis, especially with me going out of town.”

“It's no problem. She and Kari are like sisters.” Carol dropped her voice an octave. “Now there's an idea.”

Ransom thought Carol couldn't be more obvious if she tattooed “available” on her forehead. But he couldn't blame her for trying: an educated, single mother, in a town where women outnumbered men. A woman had to do what she had to do.

“I'll call you in a couple days when I need to drop off Isis.”

“Hey, I've got steaks if you want to fire up the—”

“Thanks, Carol, but I'm going to pass tonight. It's been a long day and I'm beat.” Ransom reached for Isis's hand and they headed for the back door of his three-bedroom, contemporized ranch-style home. “I'll see you in a few days.”

It was a couple hours before Ransom stretched out again, this time across his king-sized, four-poster mahogany bed. But first he'd fixed Isis a simple supper of fish sticks, fries, and cole slaw; washed her long, curly hair; cleaned the kitchen; put in a load of clothes; and read her a bedtime story. Being the single father of a rambunctious, energetic six-year-old was hard work, but it was worth it.

Ransom turned on his back and stared at the ceiling. This is not how he imagined his life looking at twenty-six. He thought he'd be running the streets of LA, nursing his dreams of modeling, and living in the fast lane. But those thoughts and that life came to an abrupt halt three years ago, when Isis's mother dropped off their daughter and called a week later saying she had moved to New York. That she couldn't make it as a model with a child in tow, and at twenty-two, was too young to be a mother anyway.

Ransom had been furious. He'd flown out to New York to try and make Brea see reason. But there was no getting through to her—partly because a strapping six-foot-tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed Viking was in the way.

“He's just my roommate,” she'd said.

Her roommate's eyes and protective stance had said otherwise. Ransom flew back to California and, at his father's suggestion, hired a lawyer and had papers drawn up the following month. Brea gave him full custody. That's when his life changed.

He got serious about school and, having already received an associate's degree, graduated eighteen months later with a bachelor of science degree in Construction Engineering Management from Cal State. He dropped his partying friends and moved back to the small town he felt was better suited to raising a child. Promiscuous sex was out: he loved Isis but had learned the hard way where irresponsibility could lead. A chance conversation with a teacher and mentor, the one who'd nurtured his desire to build things, had given him a place to invest some of the money he'd gotten from an automobile accident with a grocery chain semi. A year later he'd become sole owner of the then fledgling construction company. That's how the security of his daughter's future was born, and life had been good ever since.

Ransom was a man who didn't hide or deny his sensitive side. So he didn't try and stop the tears that formed as he thought about the immense joy his daughter had brought to his life. He'd do anything in the world for the little girl in the next room. But he couldn't help thinking too, as he drifted off to sleep, that his wonderful life wouldn't be quite complete until there was a queen in the castle along with him and his princess.

Gwen cast a critical eye at the full-length mirror.
No matter what Chantay said, this skirt is too tight!
But she had to admit, it did give definition to her slender booty, while the suit's flared jacket added the illusion of curves to her boyish frame. As for the rest of the makeover that had taken place the previous Saturday, Gwen was pleased. She'd never plucked her brows, but liked the depth the thick yet curved arches gave her almond-shaped eyes. Having worn her hair in its naturally curly state most of her life, she felt the straightened bob that rested just beneath her shoulders was not only a welcome change that drew attention to her pouty lips, but also gave her a more sophisticated look. The hairstylist's suggestion to lighten her black tresses was also spot on: the dark auburn highlights complemented her mocha complexion, and brought out the red tones in her skin.

Gwen's eyes widened as she looked at her watch. Where had the time gone? Had she really spent forty-five minutes getting dressed, an act that usually took fifteen minutes at most? Remembering the objective, however, she forgave herself right away. She'd easily aced the online application process and Adam had assured her that because of an effort to increase minority teachers in the district, and his power of persuasion, her position was assured. Still, she wanted her education, experience, and merits to be what impressed the personnel committee at Sienna Elementary. Her mother's savings would cover expenses for the assisted living facility, but Gwen still needed to support herself. And if the conversation with Joe she had last night was any indication, she couldn't count on big bucks from the condo sale. She wanted to wait until the housing market stabilized and make a higher profit. Joe wanted to sell to the first buyer who bid. He'd made it clear that all he wanted was for their life together to be in his rearview mirror.

Gwen exited her bedroom and was taken aback at the sight of her mother sitting on the living room sofa reading a magazine. Lorraine Andrews's appearance had changed drastically in the year since Gwen had last seen her. Her hair was almost white now, and the faint lines around her eyes had deepened, joining new ones on her forehead and cheeks. She'd lost weight, which gave her a frail appearance. Once bright brown eyes were now watery and dim. She was only sixty-six, but looked older. Gwen took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and walked into the room.

Lorraine looked up and smiled. “Baby, your hair looks nice. When did you do that?”

“On Saturday, Mama, remember?”

Lorraine frowned. “Was I there when you got it done?”

“No, Mama. I borrowed your car and drove into LA. I met Chantay and she helped me with a makeover.”

“How's Margaret?”

Gwen's shoulders slumped and it became harder to hold on to her happy facade. “Chantay's mother died last year, Mama. I flew home and we went to her funeral together.”

Lorraine frowned slightly, placed the magazine on the seat beside her, and folded her arms. “Margaret sure loved going to bingo. Maybe I'll call her and go this weekend.” She looked up as if Gwen had just walked in the room. “I like your hairstyle. Is that new?”

Gwen fought back tears as she walked over and hugged her mother. The conversation had been similar to several she'd had since arriving the past Friday afternoon: repeated questions, mention of people either dead or long since moved away, and the behavior that had scared her brother on his last visit enough for him to call and ask for her intervention.
Strongly suggested
may have been a more accurate description. Even
begged
wouldn't have been too exaggerated a verb. Both her brothers were married with children, one living in Seattle, the other in North Carolina. It made sense that Gwen was the one best able to step in and help their mother transition to another way of living.

Gwen reached for the phone, called her mother's neighbor, Mary Walker, told her she was leaving for the interview and asked that she keep an eye out for any potential wanderings of the Lorraine kind. After making sure the gas line to the stove was turned off, she felt the home safe enough to leave her mother alone.

“Here, baby, wear this.” Lorraine unpinned a brightly jeweled brooch in the shape of a butterfly from her blouse and held it up to Gwen.

“It's pretty, Mama, but you know I'm not much of a sparkly jewelry wearer. I like simple stuff.”

Lorraine's eyes misted over. She rose from the couch and headed toward her bedroom. “You used to like wearing my jewelry,” she mumbled.

“I'll wear it, Mama,” Gwen called out. She didn't bother to remind her mother that while Gwen had played dress-up with her mother's hats as a child, it was Chantay who always coveted her mom's jewelry, and to this day wore big gaudy earrings and enough bracelets and necklaces at the same time to open a pawn shop.

Lorraine turned and brought back the brooch, smiling as she pinned it to her daughter's lapel. “There, you're all set. Your hair is usually curly. I like it straight.”

“Thanks, Mama.”

Twenty minutes later, Gwen pulled into the neat and pristine parking lot of Sienna Elementary. She was immediately impressed with the playground, which sat to the right of the L-shaped building. Brightly colored swings moved in the breeze. Sandboxes and hopscotch imprints dotted the asphalt landscape. Several jungle gyms sat between a half basketball court on one side and soccer field on the other. A jogging track surrounded the playground, and a colorful mural of playing children painted on the school's wall lent a spirit of whimsy to the scene.
Whoever designed this area really knows children
, she thought, as she mounted the four steps to the school's front doors. If what she saw on the outside was any indication of the attention to detail on the inside, Gwen knew she'd like teaching here.

The first person she saw was a young, perky woman with fiery red hair and a bright, white smile. Joanna Roxbury, who also taught first grade, welcomed her to Sienna Elementary and pointed her toward the executive offices.

“Mr. Johnson is gonna love you,” she chuckled, as she took in Gwen's stylish suit and modern haircut. “Be careful to keep your wits about you, or from what I hear, he'll talk you out of your pan—I mean…cast his amorous spell.”

Gwen laughed. She felt she'd found her first ally at Sienna. “Oh, don't worry. Adam, rather Mr. Johnson and I, go way back. We graduated from the same class over twenty years ago.”

“You're kidding! I mean, it's just that you don't look that old.”

“Forty is old to you? You must be twenty-something.”

“Twenty-six,” Joanna replied sheepishly. “And it's not that forty is old, it's just that, well, you look my age.”

Gwen cut her a sideways glance.

“Well, maybe a few years older, but midthirties, max. I hope I still look as good when I'm…”

“Old?” Gwen finished the sentence with a laugh.

“Boy, I sure know how to make a first impression, huh?”

“No worries. I accept what I'm sure is a compliment in the manner it was given.”

“You know,” Joanna whispered, moving closer to Gwen. “I bet you've got all kinds of juicy stories about the teenaged Adam Johnson. I hear he was quite a character, though no one wants to give specifics.”

They reached the end of the corridor. Joanna stopped. “My classroom is this way. Hey, let's get together once your position is official. I'll be pulling for you, although seriously, your competition is slim to none.” She reached inside her purse and pulled out a business card. “Here's my cell number. Call me when you get settled in. Lunch is on me.” Then, with a wink and a smile, she was gone.

Gwen walked down the colorfully painted hall and made a right at the end of the corridor. She entered an office with posters covering almost every inch of wall. A white-haired lady sat behind a counter. Clearing her throat as she reached the barrier that separated guest from employee, Gwen straightened an already perfectly fitting suit coat.

“Yes, may I help you?” the elderly lady asked.

“My name is Gwen Smith. I have an appointment with Mr. Johnson.”

“Ah, the first-grade teacher,” the woman said as her blue eyes brightened. “My name is Mrs. Summers. Come right this way.”

Gwen walked behind the counter to a short hall with doors on both sides. She stopped as her escort knocked on the first one. A familiar voice rang out from within. “Yes?”

Mrs. Summers cracked open the door and stuck her head inside. “Mr. Johnson, the first-grade teacher, uh, rather the candidate is here.” Without waiting for an answer she nodded her head, extended her hand, and motioned Gwen inside.

Gwen tried to still her rapidly beating heart. It had been a long time since she'd seen Adam Johnson, the man she'd fantasized about, along with half the school's female population. She felt fifteen again, her hands clammy and throat dry. She swallowed, trying to calm the nervousness, but her feet remained planted to the floor and it wasn't until Mrs. Summers spoke that she was propelled out of immobility.

“Mrs. Smith, ahem, Gwen? Right this way?”

“Oh, yes,” Gwen finally responded. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Summers.”

Mrs. Summers stepped back. Gwen closed her eyes and swallowed once more before stepping through the door. She could barely contain herself as every image of the chocolate-drop jock Adam Johnson came rushing to the forefront of her mind. She placed a smile on her face, entered the lion's den…and saw a grizzly sitting behind the desk. In spite of her shock, she called upon every ounce of professionalism that she possessed, kept the smile in place, and approached Adam with hand outstretched.

“Aw, girl, what's with the handshake?” Adam asked as he walked over, brushed aside her hand, and enveloped her in a big hug. “We're friends from back in the day.” He hugged her again, in a way that questioned propriety, and then stepped back to roam greedy eyes from head to toe before crushing her to him yet again. “You're a sight for sore eyes, girl. And better-looking than I remember!”

Gwen tried to catch her breath and process his words at the same time. Where was the fine bar of Hershey's chocolate, Adam Johnson, and who was this bowl of Jell-O pudding with the beer gut and receding hairline standing in his stead? She searched the face and found remnants of familiarity: yes, those were the same lips, and the mole was still on the right side just under his nose…as she'd remembered. But where was his hair? A flash of memory went back to the long, beautiful Jheri curl Adam sported in the late eighties.
And where did his waist go?
she wondered, as she discreetly scanned the huge belly that lounged between them.

She forced herself to look back into his eyes. They were the same dark brown orbs that had separated many a woman from her virginity, but the deep bags under them took away from their mysticism and therefore their magnetism. And again, Gwen wondered,
where is his hair?

“It's, uh, it's so nice to see you, Adam,” she managed finally.

“Yeah, that feeling's mutual for sure, for sure,” Adam said, unapologetically undressing Gwen with his eyes. “Baby girl, you've sure changed since the days of the Sienna Spartans. I'd give you the game ball now!”

The memories of how dismissive Adam used to be of her settled the shock of his unexpected appearance. She stepped back, putting more distance between them. “Time surely changes things, huh?”

Adam's eyes narrowed a bit as he pondered whether her comment was a jab or simply an observation. He didn't want to start a fight and decided on the latter. After all, even with a few more pounds and a few less strands of hair, his was still the “rod with the longest prod” in Sienna.

“Have a seat, make yourself comfortable.” Adam gestured to one of two seats sitting in front of his massive, paper-strewn desk, as he made his way behind it. He sat in a large, black leather chair and instantly assumed the position of one who held an applicant's future in his hands. He moved a few papers and picked up a folder, leaned back in his chair as he studied the contents, and occasionally glanced at Gwen to make sure she recognized his importance.

Gwen forced herself not to fidget. She knew that one, she was qualified for the job; two, she was probably only one of a handful who'd applied; and three, she was probably the only African-American. She'd done her homework, and knew that aside from three Hispanics and one Asian, there were no other minorities besides Adam on the staff at Sienna Elementary. That, along with her credentials, would have to heavily favor her getting the job. The only potential obstacle, at this point, seemed to be sitting in front of her.

“So tell me,” Adam drawled, “why do you think we should hire you over all the other qualified candidate's résumés we've received in the past few months?”

Later, Gwen would congratulate herself on not rolling her eyes. She sat straighter in her chair and answered in a professional and confident voice. “I believe my credentials and references speak for themselves. I formulated lesson plans for the Chicago School District that were not only adopted by our city, but instituted in other states as well. I've received commendations each of the past four years, and have a dedication to the improvement of education within the inner cities that rivals that of Marva Collins and other groundbreakers in the educational institution. Additionally, as you know, I am a product of this town, with a personal as well as professional stake in its future success. I know what it's like to be counted out, to be considered a loser before the race begins, to wonder if big success can come out of a small town. I want to make a difference in these children's lives. And I believe I can.”

“Well, well,” Adam said, leaning forward in his chair and placing a chubby chin on the steeple shape of his fingers. “It looks like you've brought some other things back to Sienna from the windy city of Chicago…like passion.” He licked his lips, so as to leave no doubt what type of passion he meant.