by Robin Allen
“Thanks,” Sage said.
“I think you need to get rid of all that pretentious stuff. Turn the Governor’s Mansion into a gallery for black art,” Tawny said, laughing. “Every painting sculpture, picture, whatever, should have a black face in it and a black artist behind it.”
Sage laughed. “Oh, yeah, we’ll do that.”
* * * * *
“I think you better see this,” Marika said, handing Sage a letter and an envelope.
“What is it?” Sage asked.
“Another threat,” Marika said in a worried tone.
Sage sat down at her desk and read the letter:
You change the flag, you die.
The letter was computer-generated, every letter typed in a different type font, in large, bold headline letters.
“Has security seen this?” she asked, her eyebrows crinkled together.
Marika shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Did Cameron get one?”
“Yes,” Marika replied. “He hasn’t seen it yet.”
“Same thing?”
“His was different. His letter said ‘You change the flag, your family dies’.”
“This is serious. Call the FBI. Find the name of the agent who handled security for the campaign,” Sage said, as a wave of fear washed through her. “I thought all these crazy threats had ended after the election.”
* * * * *
Sage wasn’t the only person to receive threats about the state flag, as Drew was targeted for his public support of the “Change the Flag” movement. Drew retrieved the draft of his editorial for Sunday’s edition of the newspaper from the central printer. He read the copy while walking back to his desk, mentally noting what changes needed to be made.
Twenty days into the session, and lawmakers have adopted some major legislation. The House passed next year’s fifteen-billion-dollar state budget and Governor Cameron Hudson’s elimination of state tax on food. The cut in food tax sparked much controversy in the House, with several members giving emotional testimony about the state’s responsibility to provide its citizens with the basic necessities of life. Both measures must now be approved by the Senate…
The governor’s New State Flag bill remains with a House committee, where it has been sitting since January. They are continuing negotiations on the controversial legislation proposing a new flag with a different emblem.
Back at his desk, Drew was hunched over the article, marking changes in red ink, when he received an internal phone call. His editor, John Keyes, wanted an update on the police-corruption story he was investigating. “I’ll be there,” Drew said, placing the receiver on the phone. He turned to his computer terminal and scrolled through the files, searching for the draft of the article that John wanted to review. He clicked on the computer mouse to access the file.
“Hey, Drew,” said Martin Wilson, a skinny kid from the mail room, with a crew top of dreadlocks. He dropped a pile of mail into Drew’s mailbox. “How ’bout those Hawks, man?”
“It was a thriller of a game,” Drew said.
“I’ll catch you later, man,” Martin said, putting the earphones from his Walkman over his ears once again. Bobbing his head to the music, Martin pushed the mail cart past Drew’s desk.
Drew flipped through the stack of mail until a black envelope snagged his attention. He slit open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
If the flag changes, you die.
The cryptic message was the same as the previous three he had received since the publication of his editorial supporting the governor’s efforts to change the flag.
Drew was used to receiving angry letters from readers who didn’t agree with his pro-black perspective. People sometimes had extreme, even violent, views, but he’d never received actual threats before. Drew decided to show the threatening letters to his editor.
Chapter Nine
The bell tinkled when Sage pushed the door open and entered the plush offices of Weddings By Design. A stack of wedding invitations and hand-addressed envelopes were stacked on the receptionist’s desk. Recent copies of Modern Bride and Brides magazines were neatly placed on the cocktail table in front of an ivory-colored sofa. While waiting for the receptionist, Sage gravitated toward the wall splattered with pictures of wedding gowns and bridesmaid dresses in a variety of styles and colors.
“Ms. Kennedy?” a quiet voice suddenly spoke.
Slightly startled, Sage turned away from a picture of a wedding dress that she liked and made a mental note to ask about the dress. “Yes.”
A tall, willowy white woman with curly, red hair approached Sage. “I’m Rebecca Redmond,” she said, extending her hand; “My mother will be here shortly. She’s running a little late this morning. You know how bad traffic can be. Anyway, can I offer you some coffee or tea?”
“Tea would be nice, thank you.”
“Of course, follow me,” the young woman said, motioning with her hand for Sage to follow her into a conference room that reminded Sage of a Victorian parlor. Sage took a seat at a cherrywood antique table and leafed through a brochure that described the company’s services. Rebecca placed a gold-rimmed, fine bone-china cup and saucer on the table in front of Sage. The rich aroma of cinnamon-flavored tea wafted through the air.
For the next ten minutes, Rebecca told Sage about the wedding she was working on for a wealthy client, describing in detail the gowns, the decorations and the reception. “It’s really going to be fabulous,” Rebecca said.
The door opened, and an attractive woman came into the conference room. “Hello, Miss Kennedy,” she said, extending her hand to Sage. “I’m Helena Redmond.”
Sage accepted her hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, noticing that Helena was an older version of her daughter, though with deeper blue eyes and a more refined manner.
The older Redmond woman wore a sapphire-blue wool-crepe suit, the wide lapels of the stylish jacket trimmed in black and the waist fastened with a large black button that matched the knee-length skirt. Blue-topaz earrings dangled from her ears.
“I apologize for being late. There was an accident on 285, and traffic was backed up,” Helena said, placing her purse and briefcase on the table. “I see Rebecca has taken care of you. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“No, thank you. I was just reading your brochure.”
“Good. Good. Now I can give you the details.” She sat down at the table across from Sage. Using a color-slide presentation, Helena explained that Weddings by Design had been in business for five years and that she had bought the company from a friend who’d left Atlanta after a bitter, nasty divorce. Helena went on to describe their range of services, from modest affairs for the budget conscious to the most elaborate wedding where cost is not a factor.
“Weddings by Design are very orchestrated events,” Helena said. “They’re major productions, much like the making of a movie. The end result can—and should—be as spectacular as an epic film.”
Helena concluded her pitch with slides of past weddings coordinated by her company: weddings at churches, country clubs, mansions, gardens and art galleries.
“We offer a broad range of services customized to fit our clients’ needs,” Helena said, before turning off the slide projector and then walking over to the doorway to turn on the lights.
“So have we convinced you to hire us?” Helena asked, her bleached-white smile as dazzling as the large, emerald-shaped diamond on her left hand.
“It’s all very impressive,” Sage admitted, as she sipped from her Noritake teacup. “What I want to discuss is my wedding.”
“Well, that’s why we have a spec sheet for you to fill out. That way we can know what kind of wedding you want.” Helena picked up a file folder with the name “Sage Kennedy” typed on the tab. She opened the folder containing several sheets of paper. “I was thrilled to see that you’re getting married at the Governor’s Mansion. Have you selected a date yet?”
“August
15.”
“Wonderful. I don’t have anything scheduled that day. I try not to do more than one wedding a Saturday, especially if it’s an elaborate wedding.”
“That’s good to know.”
“And how many people are you going to invite?”
“Approximately three hundred.”
“Lovely. Do you wish to have the wedding inside or outside?”
“Inside, in the Circular Hall, if we can work it out logistically. If not, then outside in the gardens.”
“Lovely, those gardens are absolutely beautiful. What tier of service have you selected?”
Sage looked at the page listing tiers from A to G in descending order of cost and services. “Definitely A,” she answered.
“Lovely, lovely,” Helena said with a pleased smile. “Now we can get down to details. While we do that, Becky can work on the contract.”
“That’s fine.”
“I think the most exciting part of getting married is the bridal gown. It marks the event. After all, you are the star of the show. We can even select the gown for you if you like.”
“No, I’ll pick out my gown,” Sage said. “I’ve been waiting all my life to do that.”
* * * * *
The old man slammed down the phone so hard it fell off the desk, along with a pile of mail. “Winchester!” he yelled.
Hearing the loud thud, Winchester ran down the hall, afraid that his father had fallen out of his wheelchair. “What’s the matter?” he asked, knowing that his father’s thin-lipped expression meant he was angry about something.
“I told you to do something about that damned flag bill,” Randolph snarled, his greenish-blue veins straining against the thin skin in his neck.
“I’m working on it.”
“I just got off the phone with Russell Harper. He says the bill is going to be approved by the House.”
“The Senate isn’t going to pass it,” Winchester said confidently.
“What makes you so sure?”
“With the swing vote, the bill can’t be passed. I know for a fact that one of the senators whose vote is needed will hand in a nay. I happen to have some compromising pictures of the senator.”
“Doing what?” the old man asked.
“Having sex with another man.”
“Which senator?”
“Bridges.”
“I can’t believe it,” the old man said.
“He hasn’t made a public statement about his views. So he can go either way.”
“You’re positive?”
“Don’t they say a picture is worth a thousand words? And, of course, I’ve kept the negatives,” Winchester said with a sly grin.
“So we can count on him in the future?”
“I’m working on another senator.”
“Who?”
“I don’t want to say just yet. Give me a week.”
“No more than a week,” the old man warned.
“I don’t anticipate any problems,” Winchester said, noticing the scattered mail that had fallen on the floor. He bent over to pick it up. Sage’s smiling face looked up at him from the cover of Atlanta magazine. “There she is. One of ‘Atlanta’s Women Power Players’. Not for long,” he promised, ripping off the cover page.
* * * * *
“Good news,” Sage said, entering Cameron Hudson’s office. “I just got off the phone with Bill Archer. He says the bill to cut the food tax will get passed by the House, but they want it to be specific to staples, meats, bread, vegetables, dairy and produce. Right now they’re negotiating what food items will get taxed.”
“I know the grocery chains are complaining that it will cause administrative problems,” Cameron said. “But it can be overcome. What about the flag?”
“Bill says they’ll probably hold it until last because of all the controversy. Sounds like they’re open to the idea of a new design, though.”
“Excellent,” he said, nodding with a slight smile.
“Have you looked at the brochure?”
“Yes, I like it. Very colorful and friendly.”
“The National Governor’s Association wants you to be the keynote speaker at their convention,” Sage said.
“When is it again?”
“In June.”
“What’s the topic?”
“Maximizing government funding.”
“Just what I want to talk about,” Cameron said sarcastically.
“I can get Benjamin Smith to write your speech. He does a lot of political speeches. He’s very much in demand.”
“Do that.”
“I want to change some of the artwork in the Mansion,” Sage said, easing into a chair in front of Cameron’s desk. “We need to add works by black artists and sculptors and include books by black writers in the Library.”
Cameron leveled his eyes at Sage, his round face an expression of bemusement. “Sage, are you trying to create more controversy? Our neighbors alone would be in an uproar, let alone those arts preservation committees.”
“I know, but it’s time the Governor’s Mansion represented the people who live in this state, the people you have been elected to represent. After all, the Mansion isn’t a private home. It’s on display, sort of like a museum. And museums change their art all the time.”
“Good argument. So how do you suggest we go about it?”
“I think we should select artwork that goes with the décor and find a suitable location for the art that we’re replacing. If we find other high-profile, prestigious venues for the pieces we remove, people won’t have room for much complaint.”
“Oh, they’ll still complain. As a matter of fact, they’ll scream to the high heavens, especially the preservationists.”
“We can soften their cries of protests, especially if we find a suitable place for the outgoing pieces.”
Cameron snapped his finger. “You know, Sarah would love to be involved in something like this. But let’s be low-key about it for now; let’s get this flag bill approved first.”
* * * * *
“You’re back,” Sage said, when she opened the door and found Ava lounging on the sofa in the living room. The television was on, the volume low, and Ava was lying on her back, arms flung across her face.
Ava rose up. “Hi,” she said in a limp voice.
Sage greeted her little sister with an affectionate kiss and hug. Dark circles ringed Ava’s eyes. “Honey, how are you?”
“Terrible.”
“I can see that,” Sage said and sat down next to her. “Talk to me.” She grabbed her sister’s hands and gently stroked them. She remembered the day her mother brought the twins home from the hospital. They had the smallest faces and tiniest hands; together they only weighed seven pounds at birth. She’d felt so protective of them even then. Little had changed in that way, even after all these years, and it hurt her to see her baby sister in so much pain.
“He’s going to die, Sage.” Ava sobbed for the first time since she’d seen her father. Sage held and rocked her, gently rubbing Ava’s face and hair. “Oh God, it’s terrible. You know how strong and big he’s always been. A few months ago he weighed two hundred twenty-five pounds. Two days ago he was down to a hundred forty pounds.
“He’s so small. Doesn’t even look like himself,” she said, her voice cracking with hurt. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she said, “I can’t watch him die. I know it’s selfish, but I can’t do it, Sage. I just can’t!” She looked at her sister. “Does that make me an awful person?”
Sage touched Ava’s face and wiped away her tears. “No, you’re not awful, honey. You have to know your limits. And I truly understand how you feel.”
“I’m so glad, Sage. Mommy is furious. She wouldn’t even go to the airport with me.”
“Is Aaron still there?”
“Yeah, he’s going to drop out for the semester.”
“Aaron is strong,” Sage said. “He can handle it, and he’ll be able to help her a lot.”
“I
felt so guilty leaving them.”
“Ava, you do what’s best for you. It’s all a shock. You need to prepare yourself. Maybe you can go back later, when you can handle it.”
“Okay.” Ava sniffled and wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I want to get back to work tomorrow. Get my mind off things.”
“You’ve got plenty of work waiting for you.”
“Have you made any other plans for the wedding?”
“I hired a wedding consultant,” Sage said, a tinge of excitement sounding in her voice.
“What about a gown?”
“I was saving that for me and you. We have to go shopping for my gown and the bridesmaid gown.”
“No high-collared, fuddy-duddy stuff. The gowns have to be live.”
Sage chuckled, pleased to see her sister smiling through her tears. “All the way live.”
* * * * *
The Omni was filled to capacity with basketball fans. The Atlanta Hawks were playing against the Orlando Magic, and the air was filled with excitement and tension.
Sage, Ramion, Ava and Drew sat in the press box with a full view of the court. It was an intense game, with the point spread between the teams just two points—a single basket. At the end of the second quarter, the game was tied. The screaming, high-strung Atlanta fans were almost as tired as the players, from all the boisterous rooting: “Go Atlanta! Go Atlanta! Go Atlanta!”
“This game is wearing me out,” Ramion said.
“Yeah, man,” Drew agreed. “This game could give a guy a heart attack.”
Ramion stood up. “I’m going to get something to eat. Anybody want anything?”
“Bring me back a hot dog,” Sage said. “I’m starving.”
“I’m straight, man. I’m trying to lay low on the beers.” Drew patted his stomach. “I’ve got to get rid of this gut.”
Ava stood up. “Let me go with you, Ramion. I want to walk around.”
“You just want to get out there and parade around,” Drew teased.