Sealed With a Kiss (19 page)

They sat silently, entwined in each other’s arms, buried in their separate thoughts. Finally, he reached into the back seat and got a beautifully wrapped rectangular package.

“Open this after you get home,” he suggested, almost diffidently she thought. “I hope it’ll be okay.”

She looked from him to the gift and started to speak, but he shushed her.

“Please accept it, Naomi. If it isn’t all right, I’d like you to exchange it for something that is.” She took it graciously, her heart pounding; what was the meaning of it?

Naomi hated to think of Marva as her mentor, but she admitted that she turned to her friend whenever she had a serious problem, even though she invariably ignored Marva’s advice. She drained her coffee cup and glanced around her friend’s new kitchen. Marva had been observing her closely, adding little to what had passed for a conversation between them, and Naomi knew Marva had noticed that she lacked her usual verve.

“How are things between you and Cat?”

“The same. And why to you always call him ‘Cat’? I don’t like that name; it’s not him. Cats are stealthy.”

Marva chuckled and, embarrassed, Naomi shifted her glance as she realized she was being protective of Rufus.

“You’re getting to be too sensitive,” Marva told her, in a voice laden with censorship. “You don’t seem willing to match wits and just do girl talk anymore. Why won’t you talk?” She propped her chin up. “You like him a lot; you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. I know it. It’s time I got back to work; I’m not at leisure, like you are.” She quickly collected her handbag and the portfolio that she had brought along in order to test Marva’s reaction to her ad campaign layout.

Marva laid a hand on her arm. “You’re not yourself, Naomi, or at least, not the person I think I’ve known. I’ve realized for a long time that you have secrets, important ones, but I thought you’d come to terms with whatever those secrets were about. Lately, there seems to be something tearing at you; everything is forced. Your smiles, your laughter, even your humor is forced. Your smiles, your laughter, even your humor is forced, and it’s been more and more noticeable since the gala. Get on top of it before you drown in it. You won’t talk to me; can’t you confide in Cat?”

Marva was only five foot three and had to reach up to put her arm around Naomi’s shoulder. “I was certain that after the way the two of you danced that night, you’d have become very close by now. Let him love you, honey,” she drawled. “It’ll change your whole world; your big problems will get smaller; work will be easier; even the stars will be brighter. Believe me.” Her laugh was rich, throaty, and knowing. “And that’s just for starters.”

“Thanks, Marva. But Rufus is only part of the problem. I’ll call you.” She wanted to get out of there; nothing was as simple as Marva claimed. She had a husband whom she adored to share her problems and to hold her at night. When a load got too heavy, she could just hand part of it to him. I can’t look forward to that, she reminded herself as she started her car, with Rufus or any other man.
And if the stars don’t get brighter, that’ll just be my tough luck.
She drove to her studio and buried herself in her work; it didn’t help.

Naomi got home late that evening, out of sorts and hungry. She went into her bedroom to change and saw the present from Rufus that so far she hadn’t had the courage to open. She made coffee, heated the rolls and roasted Cornish hen she had brought in, and sat down to eat with the beautifully wrapped box beside her plate.

I’m being silly, she told herself, and opened the box with shaky fingers to find a pair of green leather dress shoes that were remarkably similar to the ones she’d told him about. How had he guessed that she wore size 9B? And why had he done it? She thought about it for several minutes and decided that he had wanted to make up for something missing in her life; the shoes were merely a symbol. She slipped them on. They were a good fit and matched the green Chinese silk dress. Her heart lurched as she looked at them. She longed to telephone him, but decided against it, fearful that her raw emotions would betray her. Instead, she wrote him a thank-you note and signed it, “Love, Naomi.”

Three evenings later, Rufus walked out of the OLC building and into its back parking lot, a place that he disliked, especially at night. With the simple act of walking through a door, he was transported from a progressive environment to the profusion of crying children and blaring radios and televisions that emanated from the neighboring apartment buildings. He walked swiftly over the buckled pavement and stopped, all his senses alert. With the help of the overhead lightbulbs that shone from the unshaded apartment windows, he could see in the twilight three figures in animated discussion a few feet from his car, and he was certain Naomi was one of them. He moved stealthily closer and leaned against the wooden fence that bordered the lot, ready to defend her if necessary. His eyes became accustomed to the near darkness, and he recognized first Linda and than a young man. Their words drifted to him.

“Naomi, I’m not doing anything wrong. What’s wrong about my going to a party?”

“You’re going against your mother’s orders, Linda, that’s what’s wrong. You’re getting involved with the wrong crowd, and this man is too old for you. And why do you need an overnight bag just to go to a party? When you find yourself in trouble, you’ll regret this night as long as you live. I know what I’m talking about. Look around you. Isn’t this the environment that you’re trying so hard to escape? Well, it’s the one you’re headed toward, if you go through with this. I know you’re hungry for love, Linda, but you won’t find it tonight. Wise up, honey, before it’s too late.”

Would Linda go off with that man and leave Naomi standing there after she’d pleaded with her? And where was the man’s common sense? Linda was a minor. He made a quick decision, rounded two cars, and stepped between Linda and her friend.

“You’d better be careful, fellow. This girl is fifteen, and you’re at least twenty. Don’t you know that if you touch her, you could get a jail sentence? What’s your name?”

“My name is Rodney Hall, Mr. Meade,” the man told him, surprising Rufus that he was recognizable under the dim lights. “And Linda told me she was eighteen. I don’t hang out with underage girls; that stupid I’m not. Linda’s real nice, and I like her, but I sure thought she was older. Looks like I’m in your debt, man.” He turned to Linda. “Stay out of trouble, kid, it’s rough out here in the streets.” Rufus watched Rodney walk away, hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. Better to be disappointed, he thought, sympathizing with the man, than to face a jail term.

Rufus had some questions to ask Naomi. Her involvement with Linda was personal, he’d swear to it. She identified with the girl as though they were mother and daughter. His conviction about the strength of their tie deepened when Naomi attempted to embrace Linda and the girl responded by turning away, seeming to sulk.

He sensed Naomi’s disappointment in Linda and thought, unhappily, that she’d have preferred that he hadn’t witnessed that scene, which seemed to have left her shaken. But he had, and he wasn’t leaving that lot until she did.

“Hello, Naomi. Linda. It’s just six-thirty. Would the two of you join me for a soda or coffee? I can’t suggest dinner, because I have to get my boys in about forty minutes.” Both declined. He turned to Linda and winced when he saw tears streaming down her face. She must have been deeply hurt or embarrassed, for she dropped her head and turned her back to him.

He walked around to face her. “Rodney may be a nice guy, Linda; I don’t know. Whether he is or not, you shouldn’t have deceived him. Don’t lie to a man about your age. You could ruin his life, and you’ll almost certainly ruin yours if you settle for a one-night stand.” He regarded her intently.

He didn’t like the silent treatment he was receiving from Naomi, who was behaving as if he wasn’t there, as if she resented his interference. He walked over to her and reached for her arm, but she backed away, almost stumbling over the uneven pavement.

“I’ll see you to your car, Naomi.” What had he done to make her behave as if he was poison? He reached for her hand. “I take it you’re driving Linda home, so you two come on. I’m not leaving you here in this back lot in the dark, Naomi, and you know it,” he growled. After she drove off, he got into his minivan and sat there, letting the motor idle. He’d just been given a clue to who Naomi was, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Maybe he should have asked Linda whether she and Naomi were related. Naomi hadn’t seemed like herself. She hadn’t wanted him to touch her, and she’d barely said a word to him. He was more puzzled than ever.

An hour and a half later, Naomi sat down to a cold supper of fried chicken, baked sweet potato, and milk. She had driven Linda to her home at North Capital and P Street. Not the worst neighborhood, but close, and waited until the girl was inside her door. Had she herself been that naive fourteen years ago, looking for love in the wrong place? She thought back to the scene in the OLC lot. To leave the lot, you either went back into OLC or through the gate and into the dark alley. If Linda had gone through that gate with Rodney, there’d have been no turning back. Naomi marveled that such a gifted, intelligent girl had given no thought to the consequences. Was the need for love so powerful? Did she need Rufus like that, and did it explain her attachment to Chuck?

She answered the phone after its fourth ring. “Hello. I’m busy; may I call you back?”

“In that case, why didn’t you just let your answering machine say that for you? If my boys weren’t in bed, I’d invite myself over. Could you call a taxi and come over here? That way, I can at least be responsible for your transportation. How about it?” She thrilled at the sound of his deep, masculine voice, but she couldn’t talk with him or see him, not when she felt so raw. She’d been through the wringer once tonight, and she wasn’t going to subject herself to Rufus’s inquisition. She didn’t know how much of herself she had exposed to Linda, nor what he had heard. But Rufus was like a master agent; nothing escaped him, and he always got what he went after. She stalled.

“Well, what about it?”

“I’m eating dinner. I’m tired, and I’m going to bed. If you called about Linda, I saw her safely to her door.”

“I didn’t call about Linda; I called about you.”

She leaned her left hip against the table and contemplated the probable effect of telling him that she didn’t want to see him anymore. None, she decided. “Rufus, we’ll have to discuss me some other time. I’m going to turn in.”
Don’t lie to a man, Linda.
She hadn’t lied to Rufus, but she hadn’t told him the truth, either, and she felt as though she was caught in her own trap. He had wanted to protect her when they were in the OLC lot, but she couldn’t allow it. If she ever began to depend on him…

“There’s no point in trying to run from your problems, sweetheart,” he said, getting her attention. “Like the man in Samarra, when you get there, whatever’s chasing you will be waiting.”

“I don’t want to see you tonight, Rufus, and I took Philosophy 101 almost twelve years ago.”

“You told Linda to wise up. You wise up!
You
send a man a note and sign it, ‘Love,’ and the next time you see him, you behave as if he’s a leper. And you accused me of being inconsistent. Maybe we’ll run into each other in New Orleans. Good night, Naomi.”

She replaced the receiver and threw out the rest of her dinner. There were times when he made her truly happy. And then, like now, she could be miserable because of him. She wished she’d never seen him, and she wished she didn’t have to go to that convention in New Orleans.

Chapter 9

W
hen she arrived at the registration desk of the conference hotel in New Orleans, Naomi saw that Rufus had just checked in and was deep in conversation with an attractive blond clerk. Of course, the little blonde doesn’t care that fifteen or twenty of us are waiting in line to register, Naomi thought crossly. He hadn’t noticed
her,
and it was just as well, she figured; her feelings for him just then were anything but friendly. Distasteful was more like it. She recognized the sensation as one of jealousy and soothed herself with the thought that jealousy was as natural and spontaneous as yawning. She laughed softly at herself, but loudly enough for Rufus to hear from a distance of five feet and turn toward her. Sweet, feminine triumph flowed though her when he immediately smiled at her, the pretty registration clerk evidently forgotten.

He greeted her with a captivating smile. “Hi. We should have taken the same flight.”

Still slightly miffed at the pleasure he seemed to have been getting from his conversation with the pretty clerk, she replied grumpily, “Why didn’t we?”

“Good question. Probably because if you’d wanted us to travel together, you’d have answered the messages I left on your machine yesterday morning.” He shoved his luggage aside, and a middle-aged woman immediately sat on it, nodding an apology toward him.

A delicious little quiver darted through her chest. At least he’d called. “It wasn’t deliberate,” she explained. “That machine has been giving me problems. I didn’t get your message.” Then, feigning disinterest, she slipped into her old pattern of behaving differently from the way she felt. “Don’t let me keep you from your little blond friend over there.”

He laughed heartily, and she knew he recognized her annoyance as a cover for jealousy and that it pleased him. “You could have called me and suggested we fly together,” he reprimanded. “It isn’t etched in stone, as you like to say, that between the two of us, I make all the calls.”

She didn’t want to give up her annoyance; it was a good defense against the fevered turmoil into which seeing him had plunged her. She couldn’t seem to move her eyes from his full bottom lip that always looked inviting—hard and tender at the same time. He raised his hand to rake his fingers over his hair, and her gaze fell upon his strong, tapered fingers, those pleasure giving digits. She could almost feel them stroking her. Her glance rested on his face, and she had an urge to run, because she knew he’d read her thoughts.

He winked, and her recovery was swift. “I’m glad to know that a nineteenth-century guy thinks it’s okay for a woman to invite a man to join her on an out-of-town trip,” she told him, falling back on flippancy.

“I thought we’d gotten well beyond the stage where you cover your real feelings with sarcasm,” he told her, as a grim look settled over his face. “Say what you really mean, what you feel, Naomi, even if it embarrasses you. At least you’ll know you were honest.”

“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 meant 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.