by Robin Allen
Chapter Fourteen
The scent of musk from a single burning candle wafted in the air of the darkened room. Wearing thigh-high stockings, red panties and a sheer red bra, Sage lay in the middle of her bed. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep. Nor was she alone.
“Are you ready?” Ramion whispered into her ear.
“Ready for what?” Sage asked, her body tingling with expectation.
“To forget,” he said, nibbling softly on her ear, shoulders and neck. He slipped his fingers between her legs, touching her center so soft and wet, so velvety smooth.
Waves of pleasure pulsed through Sage. She quivered with anticipation.
“I think you’re ready,” Ramion whispered, his fingers lingering inside her moistened folds. His tender kisses became insistent, probing, demanding. Sage returned them with equal intensity.
Ramion moved his mouth from her swollen lips. “I’m going to love you from the bottom to the top.”
He opened her legs, spreading them wide. He massaged and licked the bottom of her feet and very tenderly kissed the inside of her legs, from her calf to her knee to her thighs. He licked the insides of her legs, stroking and caressing the softness of her inner thighs.
He placed his mouth between her legs and tasted her liquid gold, his tongue circling, exploring. A rush of pleasure spiraled through her.
“Please don’t stop,” she groaned, wanting him to continue the exploration of pleasure.
Lying above her, Ramion was ready to explore, and probe deeper inside her pleasurable cavern. The presence of his probe inside her, vibrated her body as Sage arched her hips upward and he moved deeper inside her. They flowed together, rocking back and forth in a fluid motion, flowing freely, intensely, until ecstasy spun them free.
“Water, please,” her hoarse voice crackled in ragged breaths.
Ramion lifted up from the bed, sweat glistening on his naked body, and said, “I’ll be back.”
He returned a few minutes later with two ice-filled glasses of water. Sage took a glass from him and drank the water in quick gulps. Handing Ramion the empty glass, she leaned back against the pillows and pulled the sheet up to her chest.
Closing her eyes with a satiated smile and feeling better than she had in weeks, Sage uttered happily, “I forgot everything.”
Ramion stretched out against her body. “I could tell,” he said, smiling with pride and satisfaction.
“Oh, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Baby, a lot has happened to you in the past week. Going to your stepfather’s funeral, talking to your mother after all these years. You needed to forget, if only for a moment.”
“Make me forget again,” Sage said.
Ramion tenderly kissed her on the lips. “I understand the range of emotions you feel, everything from anger to excitement, from joy to sadness.”
“You’re right.” Sage rubbed her hands against her face and through her tangled mass of curls, and released a long sigh. “And everything is so mixed up together that I still don’t know how I feel.”
“Maybe you just need to give yourself time to figure out which feelings are temporary and which ones are permanent.” Ramion put his arms around Sage’s shoulders.
“I feel relieved about seeing Mama, in a bittersweet kind of way.”
Twirling her hair around his fingers, he asked, “Is it going to end there? I mean, are you going to spend time with her? Let her visit…”
“You mean let her back in my life?” She sighed before continuing. “Probably. It’s going to take time, but I think we can begin again. I want to get to know her. I can’t believe it myself, but I want to reestablish a relationship with her. Does that sound strange?”
“No, baby, we all need our mothers, no matter how grown we are.”
Shaking her head, Sage said, “It feels like I closed one door, only to open another.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m talking about my father.”
“There’s no mystery, Sage. You know something you didn’t know before. It doesn’t change anything.”
Sage rose up and leaned over Ramion, her expression puzzled. “It changes everything. What if he didn’t die? What if he’s alive?”
“If he were alive, you would know. He hasn’t been in touch with his mother, his sister, you or your mother.” Ramion softened his tone and affectionately stroked Sage’s cheek. “You resolved the issue with your mother; it’s time to move on. Get out from under the dark cloud of the past.”
Sage sank back into the bed, the truth of his words getting through. “Maybe you’re right.”
Ramion placed his hands on her cheeks, drew her face toward his and kissed her on the forehead. “I don’t want you to be hurt or disappointed.”
Sage settled into his arms, leaning her head in the crook of his shoulder. They were quiet, savoring the moment, as the embers of their passion died down.
Sage was almost asleep when Ramion asked, “Do you want to go away? Maybe next weekend or the weekend after that? A quick trip to Florida or South Carolina?”
Yawning, Sage said, “Sounds wonderful, but remember we’re going to DC next month.”
“Oh, yes, the Governors’ Conference.”
“Dinner with the president,” she said, her voice laced with excitement.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Ramion said. “I have something for you.”
“What?” Sage said, leaning her head on her elbow.
He reached under the bed and removed a small gift-wrapped box. “For you, baby.”
“You are so sweet.” She unwrapped the gift and opened the jewelry box. “It’s beautiful,” she said, staring at a gold pin shaped like a butterfly. Diamonds bordered the wings.
“For your collection.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Why do you cry when I’m trying to make you smile?”
She laughed softly. “It’s just so beautiful, so thoughtful, and so sweet.”
“But there’s something else. Keep going.”
“My mother said that Daddy started painting again after I was born. He tried to make it as an artist, but he got discouraged and started working for a factory. After I was born he found his muse. She said he called me Butterfly because I had inspired him to try again to be an artist.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Ramion said.
“When he was painting, he would play Billie Holiday over and over. One time, Mama bought him a new album. She was sick of hearing Billie Holiday. I can’t remember who it was, Sarah Vaughan, Esther Phillips, Nancy Wilson, or somebody like that. She played the album and Daddy got very upset. He wouldn’t paint without it.”
“Maybe he couldn’t paint unless he heard Billie Holiday’s voice.”
“Maybe,” Sage said.
* * * * *
At the Governor’s Mansion, Sage stepped onto the terrace, feeling the soft spring winds gust around her, blowing her hair and stirring the aroma of blooming flowers. She looked up at the cloudless powder-blue sky and thought, What a beautiful day to take off work.
A glass of orange juice and a plate filled with croissants rested on the cocktail table centered in front of the antique wrought-iron furniture. Looking for the governor’s wife, Sage walked over to the window and spotted Sarah kneeling beside a row of flowers.
Sage opened the terrace door leading to the gardens and went down the steps. She smelled the freshly cut grass as she walked across the lawn. “Good morning,” she said when she reached Sarah.
“Hi, Sage,” Sarah said. She was kneeling beside a bed of annuals, smoothing dirt around them. “I’m finished here. I was about to come up.”
“They’re beautiful,” Sage said, also admiring the rows of perennials that Sarah had planted. “What are they?”
“Oh, they’re day lilies. They grow well in the shade. The soil here is so rich and fertile, my plants are really thriving.”
“I thought the gardeners took care of the flowers.”
> “Poo! They have their job. But I love gardening, and I wasn’t about to give that up because I live in the Governor’s Mansion.” She took off her gloves and started back toward the terrace.
“Ah, this is your private garden,” Sage said.
“Yes, and I’m very proud of it. I can spend hours out here. This is the best time of year to plant…” She stopped and then said, “You didn’t come to hear about gardening.”
Sage and Sarah walked up the stairs and entered the terrace. Sage sat down on the chaise lounge.
“So how do you like being the First Lady of Georgia?” Sage asked.
Sarah stood in front of the wrought-iron tea cart. She picked up a glass pitcher filled with iced tea the color of honey and poured herself a glass. “Would you like some?” she offered, gesturing with the pitcher.
“Sure.”
“I absolutely love it,” Sarah admitted, as she poured another glass of tea. “People treat us like royalty. I was always given special attention as the mayor’s wife, but well, being the First Lady of Georgia, it’s a whole different ball game. I’ve attended several functions—lunches, teas, social clubs—where I’m the only woman of color, but nobody makes a big deal of it.” She handed Sage the glass of tea and sat down on the black- and white-striped sofa.
“What about the kids?” Sage asked. “How are they adjusting?”
“Jessica and C.J. are doing fine. They complain sometimes that they don’t have the freedom to play like they used to, but they’re getting used to it. Now Jewel, she’s always hated being in the spotlight, so I’m sure she never tells anyone that she’s the governor’s daughter. Jewel has always been contrary. I thought college would make her appreciate the advantages of being a politician’s daughter, but it seems to have made her more resentful.
“Enough about the kids,” Sarah continued. “Let’s talk about our project. I’m very excited about it.” She reached across the table, picking up a red file folder. “I’ve gone through the Mansion and come up with a list of items I want to replace,” she said, handing Sage the folder.
Reading the list, Sage arched her brows. “Is this all?”
“I’m not crazy about the Federal period. It’s too formal and conservative, but the artwork complements the décor. The goal shouldn’t be to drastically change the Mansion, but to enhance it, to reflect the artistic contribution of blacks in this state.”
“I agree.” Chuckling, Sage said, “Imagine if we completely renovated the Mansion and furnished it with nothing but black art.”
“Whoa! That wouldn’t just be controversial, that’d be tantamount to blasphemy. They’d throw us out of here.”
“Or burn the place down.”
“Exactly. There are a lot of people who wouldn’t be amused.”
Sage sipped her iced tea. “What about the library? There aren’t any black books on the shelves.”
“That’s why I want to devote a whole section to black literature. I’m going to be meeting with several ladies from the Black Librarians Association on Tuesday. Hopefully they can make recommendations or refer me to other organizations.”
Sage snapped her fingers. “I just got a great idea. If we can track down some of the families of the authors and painters when we officially announce the new additions, we can invite them and local artists to the Mansion for the opening reception.”
“Reception?”
“I want to present this positively. So when we add the new artwork, I think a reception would be the appropriate forum, an unveiling of sorts.”
“I like that,” Sarah said, nodding.
“We need to be prepared to counter the negative fallout. When it becomes public that we’re adding art and literature by black artists, a lot of people and organizations are going to be upset.”
“Try furious,” Sarah said. “I’ve met some of the grand ladies of Georgia. Believe me, they don’t believe in cultural diversity.”
“I’ve got a list of black art galleries we can check out. My girlfriend Tawny is looking for me. As a matter of fact, there’s going to be a showing at the Hammonds House next week. Would you like to go?”
“Sure.”
“It’s Tuesday night at seven o’clock.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”
* * * * *
Shrimp and scallops sizzled in the wok, mixed with mushrooms, bamboo shoots, snap peas and Oriental vegetables. Ramion poured soy sauce into the mixture and stirred the food around.
“Smells good,” Sage said, peeking over his shoulder.
“Hmm,” Ramion said, spearing a scallop with a fork. “Taste it.”
“Ummh, delicious.”
“It’s not too soft, is it?”
“No, it’s ready. Let’s eat.” Sage picked up a plate from the counter and handed it to Ramion.
He loaded the dish with his teriyaki, stir-fried meal. He turned off the wok, then went to the table.
“We have to start working on my campaign,” Ramion said, tasting his food. “Pass me the soy sauce.”
Sage handed him the bottle. “You read my mind. I’ve been thinking about it, and you’re right, it is time to start working on it.”
“I don’t have to declare my candidacy until August 1,” Ramion said.
“But you have to start laying the foundation. The earlier the better. That is, if you really want to win.” Sage stuck her fork into the salad.
“Of course I want to win. Why else would I run?”
Sage shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Publicity, name recognition, to attract new clients for your practice.”
“Where is this coming from?”
“You’re getting a lot of media attention. You could run for district attorney. That’s a very powerful position.”
“True. But that’s not what I want.”
“Okay, Ramion. I just want to make sure there isn’t a hidden agenda that you haven’t let me in on.”
“No hidden agendas, baby. I’m going for the state senate seat. From there, I want to go to Congress.”
“You’re serious about Washington?”
“In four years.”
“First you’ve got to get the state seat.”
“Yeah, and I’m a little worried about losing key supporters. Paul Gates backed out of chairing my Fund-Raising Committee.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It just never seemed the right time,” Ramion said.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“If you were still with Edwin’s law firm, you’d have Paul’s support.”
“That’s a moot point.”
“Edwinna isn’t,” Sage said.
“She’s just blowing smoke.”
“Uh-huh, and where there’s smoke, there’s often fire.”
“She’s going to have to run as an independent, and she can’t win on an independent ticket. The Republican candidate, Roosevelt Hartman, is retiring, and the party doesn’t have anybody strong. That’s why I decided to run this year, instead of waiting a couple more years.”
“Ramion, there isn’t anything in your past that could hurt you, is there?”
“You mean, are there any skeletons in my closet?”
“Exactly, and if there are, we need to have a contingency plan in case skeletons start talking.” Sage had been teasing for the most part, but she noticed the troubled look on Ramion’s face that had replaced the confident smile and expectant gleam in his eyes.
She laid her fork on the table, unconsciously bracing herself for the worst. “What is it?” she asked softly.
“It’s about Mackie.”
Sage had only seen pictures of Ramion’s brother in family photo albums, and most of the pictures were of Ramion and Mackie together. But Mackie had been in jail for the past five years. How could anything to do with him hurt Ramion’s future? Perplexed, she asked, “What about Mackie?”
“I represented him. He was my first case.”
Sage suddenly f
elt her stomach knot.
“I didn’t want to represent him, but Pops insisted, and Mackie didn’t want anybody but me. It was a drug charge, a simple possession case, and it was the first time Mackie had ever been arrested. He should have gotten probation.”
The nervous feeling in Sage’s stomach intensified.
“The DA lied to me about the evidence, completely blindsiding me. I told Mackie to plead guilty, promised him he would get probation, but he wanted a trial. He was confident he’d be exonerated. So we went to court, and the undercover detective lied on the witness stand. He said the police report was wrong, that Mackie had more drugs on him, and that he had sold his niece some bad drugs that had caused her death.”
“You knew nothing about this?” Sage said, disbelief in her voice.
“There was nothing in the police report, and when I talked to both of them, I took them at their word. The DA added new charges. Believe me, I learned all about cops and glory-hung prosecutors.”
“What happened?”
He drank some of his soda. “The jurors were sympathetic to the detective and bought into the story about his niece. The jury found Mackie guilty and the judge handed down a sentence more fitting for a mass murderer.” Ramion blotted his mouth with a paper napkin, then crumbled it in his hand.
Sage stood up and walked around the table. She stood behind him and placed her arms around his neck, squeezing tight. “I’m sorry, honey. That had to be hard to deal with.” She massaged his shoulders and then said, “But that shouldn’t destroy your campaign.”
Ramion tilted his head back and looked up at Sage. “Sit down, baby. That’s not the end of the story.”
She kissed him on the forehead before returning to her chair. “Plenty of lawyers lose cases and still get elected.”
“Do they beat up the star witness?”
“What?!” Sage asked, dropping her fork on her plate with a loud bang.
“I followed the detective, Danny Gibson, and when I caught him alone in an alley, I beat the shit out of him.”
Sage covered her face with her hands. “Ramion! You didn’t!”
“He took my brother’s life away in so many ways and because of a woman.”
Confused, Sage said, “What woman?”