by Janice Sims
“Yeah,” sighed Nina, “but they weren’t T.K.”
Patrice heard a muffled conversation, and then her brother was back on the line. “My wife was getting a little too worked up over that actor,” he said jokingly. “And I did phone for a reason. Nina and I’ve got a few days off from work and school and thought we’d bring you the Jeep since we’ll be coming over tomorrow.”
“That’d be great,” Patrice cried, touched by their thoughtfulness. She was going to have to fly back to Albuquerque and drive the car home if one of her brothers or sister hadn’t offered. “You two haven’t been out here in a while. You can make it a mini-vacation. I’ll prepare the guest room. And I’ll happily pay for your flight home.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Patrick said. “We’re doing okay. We can afford to pay for ourselves.”
Patrice knew her brother was proud. Trying to give him a gift was like wrangling a steer. “You’re going to be paying for the gasoline to get here. It’s only fair that I pay for your flight back home.”
“No, sis, save your money. You may not always have good years in Hollywood, you know. You don’t want to wind up on a reality show.”
Patrice laughed. Her brother worried about her career choice. She supposed she should thank her lucky stars that he was the only one in the family who thought she should have become a teacher, a doctor, a lawyer or anything else except an actor. It was the kind of talk she expected to get from her parents, but they were cool with her choice.
“Actually, Patrick, I could probably survive on what I made on my last film for the rest of my life if I left Hollywood and moved back to Albuquerque.”
“Whoa,” said Patrick, sounding genuinely impressed. “No wonder everybody and his momma wants to be an actor.”
“There are definite perks that come with success in this field,” Patrice said. “So can your big sister pay for those plane tickets now?”
“Nah,” said Patrick. She’d known it wasn’t going to be that easy.
“Then I’ll have to plan some really nice things to do while you’re here,” Patrice told him.
Nina, who must have been listening in, took the phone from Patrick. “You can introduce us to T.K.!”
“I hardly know the man,” Patrice said, laughing.
Patrick took the phone back. “We’re leaving early in the morning, sis. See you soon!”
“All right,” Patrice said. “Love you both.”
“Love you, too,” Patrick said, his tone filled with laughter. Patrice imagined his wife was doing something to amuse him.
The last thing she heard before Patrick hung up was Nina’s voice yelling, “Call him and invite him to dinner when we get there, Patty!”
Patrice laughed a while after hanging up. Phone T. K. McKenna and invite him over for steaks? Not hardly.
“Oh my gawd, Patty. You’ve redecorated since we were here last,” exclaimed Nina upon seeing the living room. Patrice had replaced the old, worn living room furniture with custom made furnishings, and she had had French doors put in that led out to the big patio. Otherwise the bungalow, built in the 1930s, and well-maintained over the years by its successive owners, was pretty much the same as it had been on their last visit.
Patrice was pleased by her sister-in-law’s enthusiasm, though. She loved her home and was gratified when others liked it, too. Patrick picked her up in a bear hug while his wife made a circuit of the house. Patrick was six-three and a bit over two hundred pounds of muscle. He looked more like a cowboy than a college instructor, but when he opened his mouth to speak there was no denying he was a scholar.
“It’s a trifle hot and muggy in L.A.,” he said when he set her down.
“Oh, yeah,” Patrice said jokingly. “The heat in Albuquerque is a dry heat, not this sticky stuff we have here.” She had turned on the air, so it was nice and comfortable in the house.
Patrick, in a short-sleeved blue T-shirt and Wrangler jeans with his favorite pair of boots, followed her back to the kitchen when she began walking in that direction, talking the whole while. “How was the trip? Any problems?”
His boots made tapping noises on the kitchen’s tile floor as he walked over to the table and sat down. At the stove, Patrice took the lid off a huge skillet filled with fresh chicken strips simmering in a spicy Southwestern sauce and gently stirred the mixture.
Patrick sniffed the air. “Smells good. What’re you making, Mom’s quesadillas?”
“I’m making chicken enchiladas. I like to let the chicken simmer in the sauce before rolling the filling in the corn tortillas and putting everything in the oven.”
Nina came into the kitchen. She was a trim, petite twenty-two-year-old with beautiful dark brown skin and eyes the color of tea. Her black hair was natural, and she wore it in a short Afro. She was dressed similarly to her husband in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, but she wore sandals instead of boots. She peered at the amount of food Patrice was preparing. “Looks like a lot for three people,” she said, then wiggled her eyebrows at her sister-in-law in a suggestive manner. She sidled up to Patrice. “Don’t you have his number?”
Patrice put the lid on the skillet and reached for the deep-dish glass baking dish she was going to put the enchiladas in. “Nina Sutton, you’re like a mosquito that just won’t quit buzzing around my head,” she said with a laugh. “Yes, I have his number, but I’m not going to use it. I can’t call him up and say, ‘T.K., I’m making chicken enchiladas. Some of my family is visiting and just dying to meet you. Come on over!’”
“He’d probably be thrilled,” Nina said. Her pretty face was animated. “How often do you think a woman like you invites him to a home-cooked meal? Probably never, and it’s not as if you two would be alone. Patrick and I are here.”
Patrick cleared his throat, and the two women turned to look at him. “Patty, it might not be a bad idea. I’d kind of like to get a look at the man you’re going to be working with for the next few months.”
“I can’t believe my ears. You, too, Patrick?” Patrice cried.
“Well, Nina had some good points on the drive here. It’s inevitable that you’re going to be around an irresistible male, according to my wife. I’d like to feel him out. See what kind of vibes he gives off.”
“This doesn’t make me more willing to make that call, Patrick—not if you’re going to be judging the guy all evening. Now I’m really afraid you and Nina are going to do something to embarrass me.”
Patrick laughed. “Patty, I’m not the same boy who used to delight in chasing your dates off by being a pest. I’m a married man. I have a mortgage for goodness’ sake.”
Patrice gave Nina a stern look. “Do you think you can refrain from touching him, screaming your head off in his presence or doing anything else that might make him think my family’s a bunch of lunatics?”
“Do you want the truth, or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?” asked Nina.
“Then that answers my question,” Patrice said, turning back to her cooking. “I’m not phoning him.”
Nina sighed disappointedly. “Why can’t I lie like everybody else?”
“If she gets out of control, I’ll pick her up and carry her to the guest room,” Patrick said firmly.
Nina looked at him and smiled. Her husband was being a team player and backing her up. “You know Patrick’s a man of his word.”
“Oh, all right,” Patrice relented. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. He’s a very busy man.”
Chapter 5
“…I was only phoning to see how you were doing,” T.K. said for the third time. For ten minutes, he’d been trying to say goodbye to Aisha without being rude.
“I thought I heard somebody trying to get in the back door last night,” Aisha said. “This big old house is scary with just me in it. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss your parents.”
“Did you see anybody?” T.K. asked, focusing on the problem, if indeed there was one.
“No, it was just my im
agination,” said Aisha with a sigh. “It must be my hormones, you know, the baby.” She liked to remind him she was carrying Malcolm’s child. It was her insurance, after all, for remaining a part of the family. T.K. thought that in a few months her insurance policy would be declared null and void once the paternity test was done.
However, he didn’t want to upset a pregnant woman by saying that.
“You know how to set the alarm, and you’re not really alone in the house. Mrs. Harrison is there.” Alma Harrison was his parents’ live-in housekeeper.
“She had the night off,” Aisha griped. “She didn’t get home until after midnight.”
“I assure you that if anyone tried to break into the house, the police would be there before he got inside. You’re safe, Aisha. Now, I have to go. Take care,” T.K. said nicely.
She started to say something else, but T.K.’s cell phone began ringing—he’d phoned Aisha using the landline—and he quickly said, “That’s my personal line, I’ve got to get that. Goodbye.”
“Bye,” said Aisha sultrily.
T.K. screwed up his face as though he smelled something bad. It made his skin crawl when she did that.
He quickly looked at the cell phone’s display. Patrice Sutton. His afternoon was getting interesting. He pressed Talk and calmly spoke into the mouthpiece. “Patrice, this is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”
On her end, Patrice’s heart was beating rapidly. She was standing in the middle of her bedroom, having left Patrick and Nina in the kitchen so she would have a little privacy when she humiliated herself. She didn’t believe T.K. was going to accept her invitation.
“Hi,” she said softly. “I’m cooking, and…”
“You cook?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes, I’m making a Southwestern dish my mom used to make, and I realized that I’m making enough to feed a small army. I was wondering if, you know, you’re not doing anything special tonight, if you’d like to come to dinner. I mean, I’d understand if you can’t make it, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”
“I’d love to,” T.K. said immediately.
“My brother and his wife are my guests for a few days,” Patrice warned. “They’ll be here, too.”
“Your brother from Albuquerque?” asked T.K., sounding intrigued.
“Yes, remember I told you I’d left my car in Albuquerque? He and Nina, that’s his wife, drove it here so I wouldn’t have to go get it.”
“That was nice of them,” T.K. said. “I’d love to meet them.”
“Are you sure?” Patrice hedged, offering him an out. There was still time for him to gracefully turn down her invitation.
T.K. laughed. “I’m beginning to think you don’t want me to come.”
“No, that’s not it,” she denied. She lowered her voice, “It’s just that there’s no telling how they’re going to react when they see you. They’re big fans. I don’t want you to feel like you’re an attraction at the zoo.”
“I’ll bring the wine—red, white?” T.K. said with a chuckle.
“I’m making chicken enchiladas.”
“White, it is,” T.K. said. “Are you making the chicken enchiladas spicy?”
“Is there any other way?” Patrice joked.
“Not in my book. What time?”
“Seven,” Patrice told him. “See you then.”
“Yes, you will,” T.K. said, and hung up.
Patrice was smiling when she closed her cell phone. She wondered why she was so happy. It wasn’t as if this was a date.
She walked back into the kitchen with her head lowered and a dejected expression on her face. Nina came to her and rubbed her arm sympathetically. “He turned you down, huh?”
Patrice grinned as she raised her gaze to her sister-in-law’s. “Gotcha! He’ll be here at seven.”
Nina’s mouth fell open in amazement, and she was speechless, a condition that until now had never befallen her. Patrick laughed and went to pull her into his arms. “I don’t like this,” he said, peering into his wife’s astonished face. He looked at Patrice. “Do you think she’s okay?” He held Nina at arm’s length and gently shook her. Nina was smiling, but she wasn’t focusing.
Patrice laughed. “She’ll snap out of it when she realizes that he’ll be here in less than three hours.”
Nina startled as if she’d been poked with a cattle prod. “Oh, I have to get ready. I need to shower and do my hair and makeup, and I didn’t bring anything appropriate to wear. What was I thinking when I packed?” She turned her gaze on Patrice. “I’m gonna have to raid your closet.”
“You’re welcome to it,” Patrice told her, still laughing softly. She calmly went back to preparing the meal.
Nina hurried from the kitchen presumably to start getting ready for T.K.’s arrival. Patrick followed mumbling, “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”
“Remember,” Patrice said, “you wanted to meet him, too.”
“Yeah, but look at her,” Patrick complained. “She wasn’t this excited on our wedding day!” He jogged to keep up with his wife.
When she was alone in the kitchen, Patrice took a deep breath and looked around the room. It was a beautiful space with beige Mexican tile, cherrywood cabinetry, granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Although modern, it had a homey feel with touches of the Southwest in the form of clay pots and Native American art. Throughout her home, she had Native American and African inspired paintings, sculptures, clay pots and handmade blankets.
Her home was far from being a mansion, but it was lovingly cared for. She stopped herself. Why was she standing here obsessing about her home? She was not going to pull a Nina and lose her mind because T. K. McKenna was coming to dinner.
Besides, she had a meal to get on the table.
T.K. chose two bottles of good white wine from his wine cellar and put them in the refrigerator to chill shortly after he got off the phone with Patrice. On his way upstairs, he wondered if he should take Patrice some flowers. But, no, she had said this wasn’t a date. It would look as if he thought it was a date if he did that.
Sam met him at the door of the cellar and peered up at him as if to ask what was up.
“I’m going out, boy,” he told the dog. It sometimes embarrassed him that he talked to Sam like he was his friend instead of an animal. Sam seemed to enjoy it, so he continued to do so. “I’ve been invited to dinner. Can you believe it? I can’t remember the last time anyone invited me to dinner without wanting something.”
After he put the wine bottles in the refrigerator, he glanced up at the clock on the wall. If he left here in about two hours, he should have plenty of time to make it to Patrice’s by seven. There was time for a shower and a shave. He hadn’t asked her if the dress was casual, but he assumed that it was. She wouldn’t dress up for dinner with her family unless it was a special occasion, would she?
Two hours later, he left the house by the downstairs garage door. He was wearing jeans and a nice shirt with his favorite pair of Nike shoes. In the garage, he stood for a moment considering which car to drive. He definitely didn’t want to pull up to Patrice’s house in an Italian sports car. Nor did he feel the SUV was appropriate. He didn’t want her brother to think he was flaunting the fact that he could afford a sixty-thousand-dollar sports utility vehicle. That left the black muscle car. It was a restored 1968 Chevrolet Camaro SS. He’d done the work himself, with the aid of a professional restorer. The good thing about his vocation was that whenever he wanted to learn to do something, he could afford the best instructors.
He looked at his work as an opportunity to learn. For example, he’d been taking martial arts lessons for the past decade because he’d needed to know a little about martial arts for a role in a film.
He’d never been to college. He considered life to be his university, and he devoted himself to a discipline whenever he had an interest in it. That’s why he was a third-degree black belt in karate.
The Camaro purred to life, an
d he backed it out of the garage. Sunday evening in Malibu was ideal. The air was warm, and a breeze coming off the ocean brought the smell of night jasmine wafting in. At dusk, the sun was an orange ball disappearing into the Pacific.
He turned onto the highway and accelerated. The car handled like a dream. It was his favorite. He smiled. It had been Malcolm’s favorite, too. His smile vanished. Memories of his brother were happy and sad simultaneously. He should have had a long life. Instead, it had been cut short at thirty-three. He should have known true love. Instead, he had fallen in love with a woman whose intentions had been less than honorable. It angered him that Malcolm hadn’t had a better time while he’d been here.
He checked himself. How did he know Malcolm wasn’t happy? There wasn’t a day that he didn’t hear his brother’s laughter. Maybe he was happy. Maybe Aisha had been the love of his life. He supposed that after Malcolm died he’d had to take his frustrations out on somebody and he’d targeted Aisha. For all he knew, Aisha could be innocent. She could be telling the truth when she said Malcolm was the father of her child. Time would tell.
As he drove, he forced himself to think of the evening ahead. He didn’t want his melancholy thoughts to intrude on the evening. He was going to see Patrice again, a woman who was lovely, innocent and still untouched by Hollywood. He could see it in her eyes—the joy she derived from her craft. When she acted, she embodied the character she portrayed. Technically, she was close to flawless. He didn’t think anyone was perfect, but those whom he believed got pretty close were Denzel and Robert DeNiro. Patrice was actually just getting started in the business. However, she had something a lot of young actresses didn’t possess: talent.
He tried to tell himself that was the only reason he’d been excited when she’d phoned—she was an up-and-coming talent, and it was always fascinating to watch someone like her grow as an actor. However, he was not the type of man to delude himself. He had gotten excited as soon as he’d heard her voice because he was attracted to her. Take away the talent, and she was still a very intriguing woman. Yes, he was physically attracted to her. She, frankly, made him sweat. There was something else below the surface that drew him to her. He couldn’t put his finger on it yet. Finding out what it was would take some investigating. He instinctively knew that getting to know her better would be a pleasurable experience.