by Robin Allen
“I’m honored to meet you,” Sage said.
“I can’t hear you,” Mr. Lincoln said weakly, his thin arms beckoning her closer.
Sage edged nearer, but Oliver Lincoln continued to wave his bony hand until she stood right next to the bed. “It’s beautiful,” Sage said, remarking on the hand-carved, four-poster mahogany bed. She couldn’t resist the urge to touch the figures of African warriors, animals and masks engraved on the solid-wood headboard.
“I know you’re not talking about me,” Oliver said, his sarcastic laughter a strain on his voice. “I had it custom-made. Years ago. As you can see, I’m a collector of fine art.”
“I see,” Sage said, peering at the paintings hanging on the walls in expensive gold frames. She didn’t have to stand in front of the paintings to know that they were all original works.
“That’s my favorite,” Lincoln said, pointing to a Henry Ossawa Tanner painting.
“My father was a painter. He painted abstracts like Hale Woodruff.” Sage paused for moment. “But he was killed in Vietnam.”
Mr. Lincoln acknowledged her comment with a slight nod of his head. “I had my favorite paintings brought in here,” he said, sputtering his words with a raspy cough. “So I can look at them from this bed. I can’t get around much.” His coughing caused him to wheeze and gulp for air.
The nurse shot Sage a piercing, reprimanding glare and stepped over to the bed to place an oxygen mask over her patient’s nose and mouth. Oliver Lincoln stared into Sage’s face, his eyes blistering with pride and anger over his condition.
Sage turned away, focusing on the numerous paintings. She noticed the French doors that opened onto a small, glassed-in terrace, full of bright abstract paintings and flowers.
“You’re a beautiful young lady,” Oliver Lincoln said suddenly, boldly raking her body with his eyes. The tight-fitting knit dress displayed Sage’s figure much like a gilt frame on a beautiful painting.
“Thank you, sir,” Sage said, with a reticent smile.
He stared at her for several minutes, as if a young, beautiful woman was a rare sight for his weary eyes. “If I were thirty years younger.”
Tilting her head, she gave Mr. Lincoln a lingering gaze. “No, but if I were thirty years older.”
“Imagine that. Ha! Ha! Ha! Of course, that’s all I can do is imagine. That’s all I got working for me—my imagination.” He coughed again and then said, “On a more serious note, you were on television a couple of days ago. Somebody burned a flag in your front yard.”
“Yes,” Sage said.
“Do they have any idea who did it?”
“I haven’t been told if they do,” Sage said. She paused a moment before adding, “Both Cameron and I have received threats about the flag. Security has been increased. I have a bodyguard until they find out about the flag.”
“What about the bombing of Hudson’s headquarters? Do they have any leads?”
“No. They seem to think they’ll be able to find out who burned the flag before they know who planted the bomb.” With a wry smile, she said, “You really follow the news.”
“That’s all I have to do. But that’s not why I wanted to see you, Sage. I asked you to come because I heard you were looking for black paintings for the Governor’s Mansion.”
Sage cocked her eyebrows. “How did you hear that?”
“Just because I’m a sick old man don’t mean I’m completely in the dark. I don’t keep up with business or politics anymore; it’s bad for my health. I let my son run my businesses. I hope he don’t run them into the ground.” He stopped, his eyes a little confused, as if he’d forgotten what he wanted to say. “But art is my passion,” he said, unable to keep his eyes off Sage’s cleavage. “I am a passionate man.”
Sage shook her head at the man’s boldness, though she wasn’t embarrassed or offended. She met the old man’s stare with a teasing, flirty smile.
“Do you remember meeting Austin Gallagher?”
“Yes,” Sage said. “I met him at the Hammonds House a couple of weeks ago.”
“He’s one of my buyers. He told me you were looking for paintings by black artists after the Civil War.”
“Yes!” she said enthusiastically, understanding for the first time why she had been summoned to see him. “He was very interesting to talk to, very knowledgeable about black art and artists, especially from around the turn of the century.”
“That’s why I hired him.”
“I intend to, shall we say, enhance the art collection at the Governor’s Mansion.” She stopped and waited for the octogenarian to stop coughing. “Right now, there aren’t any paintings by black artists or sculptures, not even books by blacks.”
“I have an extensive collection of post-Civil War pieces. You’d be surprised at the technique and style of artists from that period.”
Sage could barely contain her excitement. “I’d love to see your collection,” she gushed.
“Jeb will show you. He’ll take you to the library. You’re welcome to take whatever you like.”
Sage stepped back, stunned by the gentleman’s generosity. “Thank you so much, Mr. Lincoln!” She was struck with the urge to kiss the old man and went with the feeling. She bent over and kissed him lightly on the lips.
The old man smiled, pleasure shining in his eyes.
“Mr. Lincoln, you need to rest now,” the nurse said after Sage left. She placed her hand around Lincoln’s bony wrist to check his pulse, but he flung her hand away.
“Not now. Get Jeb up here. I want him to get Ted Davidson on the phone. He’s with the FBI. I believe his number is 555-3298. Just in case I’m wrong, tell Jeb to get my phone book.”
“Mr. Lincoln. It’s time for your medicine,” said the nurse, scowling her disapproval. “You really should rest.”
“No, I want to know what they’re doing about that bombing. They need to find the person or persons who would hurt someone like her.”
Chapter Eighteen
Staring at her engagement ring, Sage picked up the telephone to call the wedding consultant and cancel her wedding arrangements. She dialed the number and hung up after the first ring. I’ll do it later, she thought. She’d attempted to call the wedding consultant several times, but had always hung up before anyone answered. Even though she knew she would never forgive Ramion for sleeping with Edwinna, she wasn’t ready to make the phone call that would unravel her life.
Sage avoided contact with Ramion. She refused to take his calls at work or at home. Ramion’s voice made her heart tremble. She ignored the doorbell when he came to her house, refusing even to look out the window. She didn’t want to see him; her eyes would mist and her stomach quiver. She didn’t want to read his cards or letters; his words would sear her soul.
Breathing deeply, Sage forced herself to concentrate on preparations for an upcoming visit by a foreign ambassador. She was writing a note to herself to find a book on the country’s customs when Marika entered her office, holding a vase filled with a dozen long-stemmed roses.
“These flowers were just delivered,” Marika said meekly.
Marika was concerned about Sage’s distracted, erratic behavior of the past week. She’d surmised that Sage had broken up with Ramion, but they didn’t discuss it. Marika was tempted to ask what happened, but it wasn’t her place to pry.
“Send them back,” Sage said, assuming the flowers had been sent by Ramion.
“I think you should read the card,” Marika said.
“I’m in no mood for games,” Sage said, irritation in her voice. She looked at Marika the way a mother looks at a child who has misbehaved. Sage snatched the card from the vase, but a faint smile curled her lip when she saw Enrique’s name.
“I’ll keep them.”
Marika was intrigued and dying to know who they were from, though she didn’t dare ask. “Should I bring the other ones in too?”
“There are more?” Sage asked, her brows raised.
“Twelve dozen in all. I d
on’t know where we’re going to put them,” Marika said, wondering if this explained Sage’s breakup with Ramion.
“Excuse me,” Ramion said, tapping lightly on the door.
Sage felt the blood in her heart coagulate. She looked guiltily at Ramion, as if he had caught her in bed with Enrique, instead of holding a card.
“Marika, I’d like to talk to Sage alone,” he said, his tone authoritative and commanding.
Marika left the flowers on the corner of Sage’s desk and quickly moved out of the office. She resisted the temptation to stand by the door and listen to their conversation.
Ramion walked over to Sage’s desk. The flowers stopped him from kissing her down to the floor and making love to her right in her office.
There was an uncomfortable silence as they stared at each other, waiting to see who would speak first.
Who sent those damned flowers? Ramion wondered.
Why’d you have to sleep with her? Sage thought. There’s no way we can return to what we had.
Staring at the flowers, Ramion felt his emotions change from those of a man vindicated by truth to those of a man deceived by love. “It’s only been two weeks and you already have someone?” Ramion asked.
“At least I haven’t done anything under false pretenses. I didn’t pretend one thing and do another.”
“I wasn’t unfaithful to you. I did not sleep with Edwinna.”
She pierced him with her angry eyes. “A moving picture is worth a thousand stabs in my heart.”
“She had the tape doctored,” Ramion explained. “It wasn’t an original tape.”
With her palms flat against the desk, she leaned forward. “Why don’t you admit that you went back to her to keep your political career on track? Don’t play me crazy, Ramion, and try to convince me that I didn’t see what I did. Cameras don’t lie.”
“They do if it’s a fake.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I would hope you’d trust me. I had the tape examined by experts. The same thing I would do for a client if I wanted to challenge the evidence. The lab report verifies my explanation—the tape was duplicated and recorded on a different date to create a new date stamp. Edwinna had it rerecorded.”
“Let me see the report,” Sage said skeptically.
Ramion reached inside his jacket pocket, retrieved the envelope and placed the report on her desk. “Considering that you’ve found someone else, I guess it really doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters,” Sage said, staring into the charcoal eyes that had penetrated her soul.
“When I was seeing Edwinna, she apparently had a video camera on one time when we were together.” He lowered his voice, embarrassed to discuss his past sexual relationship with Edwinna. “I didn’t realize it at first, but when I saw that the camera was on, I made her turn the damn thing off. I would never do anything like that. I know how easy it would be for it to get in the wrong hands and come back to haunt me.”
“A week before an election.” Sage quickly read through the report. Her heart soared after reading the first sentence about the duplication. Relief turned into anger when she thought about Edwinna’s vicious machinations to stop them from getting married and then remembered her odd comments about last-minute wedding cancellations.
The door suddenly swung open and Enrique sauntered into Sage’s office. “I see you got the flowers,” he said, smiling seductively.
Never expecting to see him again, Sage was dumbfounded.
With confident grace, Enrique eased over to Sage’s desk. “This is my way of letting you know how much I enjoyed our evening together.”
“We had one drink in the hotel lobby,” Sage said, catching Ramion’s confused expression. “Let me introduce you to Ramion Sandidge. Ramion, this is Enrique Lopez.”
“I’m her fiancé,” Ramion said with a hostile look.
“Ah, the ex-fiancé.”
Ramion’s beeper sounded. “I’m late for court. That’s probably Judge Perkins.” He looked at the number displayed on the beeper and said, “I’ve got to go.” He whisked past Enrique to stand next to Sage. “I’ll talk to you tonight, baby,” he said, softly kissing her on the lips. He whispered into her ear, “I love you.”
Turning to Enrique, he said, “We are getting married.”
* * * * *
Sage sat on the bed, reading a book, but the words were a hodgepodge of letters. The television was on, but she wasn’t paying attention to the comedy show, although she could use some laughter. The television didn’t capture her attention, nor did the legal thriller opened on her lap, her thoughts straying to Ramion. She wondered if the two weeks they’d been apart had damaged their relationship.
Hearing a car pull into the driveway, Sage peeked out the bedroom window and spotted the police car parked in front of her house, a few feet from Ramion’s car. By the time he rang the doorbell, she had opened the door for him. He greeted her with a kiss, came into the house and followed her into the kitchen.
“I’m glad the police are still watching over you. Any suspects?”
“No.”
“Do they think whoever burned the flag is also responsible for the bombing?”
“The FBI thinks it was two different types of people. The profiles don’t match.”
She was about to open the refrigerator when Ramion pressed her against the door and kissed her again, though this time with the zeal and passion of a man denied too long.
“I’m sorry Edwinna hurt you. I went to see her and told her to leave you alone.”
“I hate her, Ramion. I just want her to stay out of our lives. Why can’t she move on?”
“I don’t know. She knows now that whatever she thought we had was completely destroyed when she sent you that tape. I’m very sorry that you saw us like that.” His hands on her cheeks, he said, “I want you to know I would never be unfaithful to you. I love you too much.”
Ramion kept his arms around her, reveling in the closeness of her body, the scent of her perfume, her very presence.
“I love you too,” Sage said, gazing into his eyes, reassured by the familiar feelings that stirred with his touch. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed him and how much she needed him to make love to her.
“Is Ava home?” Ramion asked, wanting to tear off her nightgown and make love to her right there on the kitchen floor.
“No.”
“Sage, there is one thing I need to know. I haven’t been unfaithful to you, but have you been faithful to me?”
“Of course,” Sage answered, moving away from the refrigerator to stand next to the kitchen table.
“Why did he send you those flowers?”
“I suppose he wanted me.”
“Why did you tell him you weren’t engaged?”
“I wasn’t at the time,” Sage said pointedly.
“And you were ready to find someone else right away?”
“I was in a daze, Ramion,” she said. “That damn tape kept replaying in my mind. But meeting someone was the last thing on my mind.”
“So what happened?”
“We had a couple of drinks.”
“And?”
“That’s all there is to it.”
“There must be more. Did you go out with him?”
“No.”
“Did you have dinner with him?”
“No.”
Ramion stared at her, his dark eyes questioning. “Why did he send all those flowers?”
Sage shrugged her shoulders and sat down at the kitchen table. “I already told you. I met him on the last day of the conference. We had some drinks, end of story.”
“So how did he know where you were from? Where you worked?”
“He knew I worked for Governor Hudson,” she said flippantly. “He knew who I was when he introduced himself to me.”
“And did you know who he was?”
“Of course I did. It’s my job to know who’s who,” she said, her tone impatient.
“Stop drilling me. I told him we were going to work things out and he left. Now you know how I feel about Edwinna.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s different.”
“Enrique is a stranger to me. But you were involved with Edwinna. You slept with her. You had feelings for her.”
“The operative word is had.”
She pointed her finger into his chest. “The point is, you’re jealous.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I’ll admit it. Guilty as charged,” he said. “I’m jealous. I can’t stand the thought of you with anybody else.” He turned her chair around to face him. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” He slipped her nightgown off her shoulders, kissing her lips, neck, shoulders, breasts, stomach, until he worked his way down to her thighs. She reared back, her eyes closed, realizing just how much she’d missed this sensual feeling.
“Open them,” he said.
She spread her legs, and Ramion buried his face.
* * * * *
Residents, community and religious leaders, and business owners convened at a high school gymnasium to hear Ramion officially announce his bid for the state senate seat. The media was on hand to report Ramion’s foray into politics.
“In closing, I’d like to say that it’s time, time that we empower our communities. To make them the thriving areas they once were, we must be environmentally conscious, economically responsible and educationally responsive,” Ramion said, speaking into the microphone. With his hands resting on the podium, he addressed the audience, “I stand before you committed to empowering your communities, to empowering your neighborhoods, your homes and your lives. As state representative for this district, I will help you do that. That’s my commitment to you.”
Ramion’s campaign commitment drew a boisterous response from the residents of District 11.
“Congratulations, son,” Raymond said, affectionately patting Ramion on the back. “You gave a dynamite speech.”
“Thanks, Pops.” Ramion loosened the multistriped tie around his neck and said, “I thought those reporters were never going to leave.”
“They like you. They respect you. It’s good to have them on your side.”