A silence descended on the car, blanketing the occupants on the rear seat like a weighted shroud. Tamara wanted Duncan to understand her stance; however, she didn’t plan to debate the issue with him. After all, she was the one who’d been made practically homeless even though it’d been her decision to move out of the apartment she’d shared with Edward.
Although she’d been wronged, not once had Edward apologized for taking her money. He’d even had the audacity to say he’d spent their money. Her comeback was if it was their money, then the co-op was also theirs, and she wanted him to sell it and give her half. Edward had smiled and told her that if and when he did sell the apartment she would never get a penny from it. It had been this pronouncement that had prompted her to move out.
Edward Bennett had drawn the proverbial line in the sand, challenging her to cross it. Tamara had known that if she continued to live with him it would’ve ended badly. She hadn’t been willing to jeopardize her career and her freedom in order to live under the same roof as a man whom she had believed would love and protect her.
“I am not your ex-husband,” Duncan spat out.
“You’re so right about that, Duncan,” Tamara countered.
“Then why are you treating to me as if I were?”
Withdrawing her hand, Tamara shifted to look out the window again. The driver hadn’t gone more than two blocks in the last five minutes. Traffic had come to a standstill.
“You don’t look like Edward, Duncan, neither do you sound like him. And that means I’d never confuse you with him. My decision to keep my place is not about you. It’s about me and what makes me feel secure.”
Duncan felt a shiver of annoyance shake him to the core. Kalinda couldn’t move in with him unless they were married. Meanwhile Tamara, who wasn’t faced with those restrictions or limitations, didn’t want to live him when that was exactly what she’d been doing the past month.
He didn’t want to argue with Tamara because there wouldn’t be a winner. Both would be losers if something was said that they’d never be able to retract. He also knew it was unrealistic to expect a relationship in which both partners agreed on everything, but Duncan detested confrontation and sought to avoid it at all costs.
“I’m sorry I brought it up. I won’t ask you again.”
Tamara closed her eyes as the heat of tears pricked the back of her eyelids. She’d fallen in love with Duncan, loved him enough to marry him—if he asked—but the memory of packing her clothes and books and having a moving company come to put them in storage until she found a permanent home still lingered along the fringes of her mind.
Yes, she was paying an obscene amount of money to rent an apartment that would never really be hers, yet it was still hers. It was a place where, when she put the key in the lock and opened the door, she knew that everything inside belonged to her. As long as she mailed off her check to the landlord each month she was assured of having a place to eat and sleep.
Her accountant had advised her to buy a condo or co-op because she needed a tax write-off. Every year she said she would, but with her long working hours she never seemed to find the time to contact a real estate agent.
“Thank you, Duncan.”
“You’re welcome, Tamara.”
The sound of police sirens rent the air and motorists maneuvered in an attempt to give the emergency vehicles the right of way. Tamara glanced at her watch, groaning inaudibly. She had to get to the restaurant by six-thirty because her mother had confirmed that she and her husband would arrive at seven.
“Duncan, let’s walk the rest of the way.” They were at Fortieth and the restaurant was on Forty-Sixth Street.
“Are you sure you can walk that far in your heels?”
She smiled. “If I can dance in them, then I can walk in them.”
Duncan tapped on the partition separating them from their driver. “We’re going to get out here. You can pick us up at the Hudson Terrace at eleven.”
The driver put the limo in Park, got out and opened the rear door. He helped Tamara out, then nodded to Duncan as he emerged. “I’ll be waiting at eleven.”
Taking Tamara’s hand, Duncan guided her through the idling cars to the sidewalk amid whistles and crude comments from several male drivers. He knew they were directed at Tamara. She was stunning in the feminine tuxedo. Each time she took a breath the soft swell of her breasts rose and fell above her blouse’s revealing décolletage.
He’d been hard-pressed not to stare at her long legs in the heels when she came down the staircase. He’d asked himself over and over how he had gotten so lucky as to have found a woman whose beauty matched her intelligence.
When she’d asked him to buy a pregnancy test it was the first time he’d seen her in the role of physician. And when Tessa had rejoined everyone on the patio and announced that she and her husband were expecting their first child, the smile on her face was dazzling. Gasps, then silence ensued as she thanked Dr. Wolcott for her quick and accurate diagnosis. A feeling of pride had filled him when he’d realized Dr. Wolcott was his, that she was actually his.
Duncan knew he had turned an emotional corner when 9/11 came and went without him picking up the telephone to call Kalinda’s parents. Perhaps, he’d thought, they were ready to move on and so was he. He’d never forget the woman he’d asked to share his name and his future, but that was his past.
Cradling Tamara’s hand in the bend of his elbow, he smiled at her. “You look marvelous,” he crooned in a dead-on Billy Crystal imitation.
“And you are crazy,” she said, laughing.
Releasing her hand, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “You should know by now that I’m crazy about you.”
“That’s okay as long as you don’t go crazy.”
“Will you treat me, baby, if I do?”
“I’m an E.R. physician, not a psychiatrist. But I can get you some drugs that’ll make you feel good.”
“You’re the only drug I’ll ever need, Dr. Wolcott. Making love with you is better than any illicit substance.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “What do you know about illicit substances?”
Duncan’s expression stilled, growing serious. “Unfortunately, too much. A lot of the kids that Ivan and Kyle and I knew got hooked on drugs and they’re either dead or in jail. A few managed to kick the habit, but not enough. I ran into a man the other day who’d lived in my building and I didn’t recognize him, but he recognized me. The man’s only thirty-five, but he didn’t have a tooth in his mouth, and he looked old enough to be my father.
“He broke down and cried when he told me that he’d just been paroled after spending eighteen years in prison for armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. He has a son, but his baby’s mother won’t let him see him because she told the boy that his father died years ago. He has a parole officer, but what he needs is a social worker to advocate for him. I gave him my business card, telling him to contact me in a week. Meanwhile Ava is talking to his parole officer to see what services he needs.”
“Does he have a place to live?”
“Yes. He’s staying with a cousin, but it’s only temporary. When I mentioned him to Ivan and Kyle they talked about creating a position for him, even if it’s only part-time.”
“What can he do?”
“Not much. We discussed bringing him in as maintenance/gofer even though we have a contract with a cleaning company. We try to hire the Harlem residents, because people who work in their own communities tend to spend their money there.”
“Is he in rehab?”
“No. He went cold-turkey while incarcerated. I contacted a local dentist and set up an appointment for him to get a set of dentures. He’s so conscious of not having any teeth that he refuses to smile.”
“You guys are incredible, Duncan.”
“No, we’re not, Tamara. Kyle, Ivan and I were the luckier ones who managed not to succumb to drug use, dropping out of school, committing crimes or making babies. W
e had nothing to do with how we turned out. It had everything to do with our parents. Kyle and Ivan grew up with both parents, but my single mother was not to be played with. All she had to do was look at me and I got it together. Even when I went to live with my aunt I still couldn’t get away with anything. Aunt Viola told me that if I couldn’t follow her rules, then I could always hit the bricks. That meant living in a group home where I would’ve given myself a week either to survive or get my brains kicked out. Given the choices, I opted to follow the rules. I told my aunt about you, by the way, and she wants you to come for Sunday dinner.”
“This Sunday?”
“Yes, this Sunday.”
“Duncan, do you realize this entire weekend will be devoted to non-stop socializing? We have my dad’s party tonight, Kyle and Ava’s party on Saturday and dinner with your aunt on Sunday.”
“The summer season is over, so it should be quiet until the Christmas season.”
“Will Ivan bring the girl who came with him to Kyle’s cookout?”
“I don’t know. Why are you asking, Tamara?”
“I don’t know whether it’s my imagination, but she gave me the nastiest looks whenever I talked with Ivan. I was one step from telling her that I didn’t want her man, because I happen to like the one I have thank you very much.”
Attractive lines fanned out around Duncan’s eyes when he smiled. “To be honest, I’ve never seen Ivan with the same woman for more than a month or two. I think he has commitment issues.”
“We all have issues, Duncan.”
“You’re right, baby. We all have issues.”
Tamara still wrestled with her issues; Duncan was talking about Christmas while she refused to plan beyond the upcoming month. She thought it ironic that he’d grown up in an inner-city housing project but had been better adjusted at twenty-one than she’d been at the same age.
She’d grown up in the suburbs with sprawling homes set on manicured lawns. Most of the kids in her classes came from two-parent homes and getting cars for seventeenth birthdays was the norm rather than the exception.
Not to say there wasn’t drug use, because in some communities it reached pandemic proportions, but the difference was it wasn’t as overt. If a student was found to be using, his parents sent him to private rehab instead of to the community-based programs. Some communities had their own police forces whose members called parents so their kids would never see the inside of a cell or courtroom.
The “hot” girls who found themselves in trouble had two options: abortion or going away to a “boarding school” where they delivered their babies and gave them up for adoption. The few who chose to keep their babies became pariahs despite the changing attitudes toward unwed teenage mothers.
Tamara and Duncan walked the rest of the way in silence, and she sucked in a deep breath when they arrived at the canopied entrance of the Hudson Terrace. They were directed to the private room where family, friends and colleagues of Daniel Wolcott had gathered to celebrate his big six-o.
Renata spied her first. She closed the distance between them, balancing herself in a pair of Jimmy Choo stilettos. Tamara smiled. One thing she could say about the Wolcott girls was they flaunted their height. Five-foot-eight-inch Renata and Tiffany and Tamara at five-ten all favored very high heels. Renata had taken Tamara’s advice and had put back on the weight she’d lost. Another ten pounds and she would be perfect.
The two sisters exchanged air kisses. “You look absolutely incredible, Tami. I never realized you had a smoking-hot body until now, because I’m so used to seeing you in pants and oversized T-shirts.”
“It’s either scrubs or sweats.” Turning, she beckoned to Duncan. “I want you to meet someone.”
Renata went completely still as she stared at the man who’d come with her sister. “Oh…my…word,” she whispered. “Where did you find that?” she crooned sotto voce.
“It’s a long story.” Tamara held out her hand to Duncan, who took it and dropped a kiss on her fingers. “Duncan, I’d like you to meet my sister, Renata Powell. Renata, Duncan Gilmore.”
Renata extended a limp wrist to Duncan, all the while grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I’m charmed.”
He stared at her under lowered lids. “Same here, Renata.”
The facial resemblance between the two sisters was remarkable, but Duncan found that Renata lacked Tamara’s overt sensuality. He couldn’t believe he’d just met the woman who’d made Tamara’s childhood hell. Groaning inwardly, he saw Renata’s clone coming to join them. Now he knew why the sisters had taunted Tamara: they were jealous of her.
Tamara rested her hand on the sleeve of Duncan’s navy blue silk-and-wool-blend suit jacket. “This is my other sister, Tiffany Martin. Tiffany, I’d like you to meet my very good friend, Duncan Gilmore.”
Tiffany rested her hands on her hips rather than shake Duncan’s hand. Resentment glittered in her slanting dark eyes. “Are you also a doctor?”
“No. One doctor in the family is enough.”
Renata, resplendent in a black Carolina Herrera silk-tulle-and-chiffon dress exchanged a look with Tiffany. “Are you two hiding something?”
“No,” Tamara answered truthfully.
Tiffany crossed her arms under her breasts. “I think I know what it is. Tamara and her man are probably living together, because Mother says whenever she calls Tamara she can never reach her. She has to wait days for Tamara to get back to her. You should learn how to access your voice mail, sister dear.”
“I don’t have to, sister dear, because I don’t have to check in with anyone, and that includes Mother and my man!”
Renata rounded on her sister. “Tiff, please. Not tonight. Let’s not ruin it for Daddy.”
Tiffany’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Since when did you decide to take her side?”
“I told you, not tonight. For that matter,” Renata continued, “I’m done talking about Tamara. Tami, would you and Duncan like to see how the banquet manager set up everything?”
Tamara smiled. “Of course. Tiffany, are you coming with us?”
Tiffany hesitated, then followed her sisters. She didn’t know what had gotten into Renata, but she was different, so much so that she hardly recognized her. Perhaps her older sister was going through early menopause as their mother had done. Moselle Wolcott claimed her menses had stopped before she’d celebrated her fortieth birthday. Tiffany decided to stay away from both her sisters. After all, she was the one with the perfect husband, home and children. But, she had to admit that Tamara hadn’t done too badly with Duncan Gilmore. In fact, when it came to his looks she’d hit the proverbial jackpot.
They’d just entered the space with the panoramic views of the Hudson River when a loud, “Surprise!” rang out. Turning, Tamara caught a glimpse of her father’s shocked expression as camera flashes went off, capturing the moment for posterity.
Daniel saw his three daughters standing together with their arms around one another. Shaking his salt-and-pepper head he blew out his cheeks.
“Speech, speech,” a deep voice shouted.
“I need a drink,” Daniel announced. “And make it a double.”
“But, you don’t drink, Daddy,” Tiffany called out.
“But I do tonight,” he countered. Everyone laughed. Daniel walked over to a portable bar, his guests following.
Tamara stayed behind with Duncan. “I’ve never known my father to drink hard liquor. Beer has always been his speed.”
Wrapping an arm around Tamara’s waist, he pulled her against his body. “There’s always the first time for everything. It’s not every day someone turns sixty.”
“You’re right, darling. It’s quite a milestone birthday.”
Duncan stared over Tamara’s shoulder at Daniel Wolcott. The college professor was a commanding figure, standing several inches above six feet. He’d cut his thinning hair close to his scalp, while affecting a neatly barbered salt-and-pepper mustache and goatee. The gray hair shimmered against his ma
hogany-brown skin.
“Was your mother in on the surprise?”
“We had to tell her, because she’s the only one who could get Daddy to come into the city. When he’s not at school, all he wants to do is sit in his favorite chair and watch ESPN.”
Duncan smiled. “He sounds like my kind of man.”
“Here comes my mother.”
He watched the approach of a tall, slender woman in sapphire-blue silk. The color flattered her skin, which reminded him of aged parchment. It was obvious the woman was mixed-race. Centuries ago she would’ve been presented by her mother at a traditional New Orleans octoroon ball.
Duncan wasn’t one to prejudge, but the middle-aged woman gave off waves of snobbishness, and he prepared himself not to like her. Not after what Tamara had told him about her judgmental nitpicking.
Moselle Wolcott patted her coiffure even though not a hair was out of place. Her dark-brown eyes swept over her youngest daughter. “You look nice tonight.”
Tamara’s stoic expression did not change when she leaned forward to press her cheek to her mother’s. “Thank you. So do you—as usual.”
Although shorter than Duncan, Moselle managed to look down her long, thin nose at him. “Who do we have here?”
“Mother, this is—”
“Duncan Gilmore,” he said, offering his hand while interrupting the introduction. “It’s nice meeting you, Mrs. Wolcott.
Moselle took his hand. “You may call me Moselle.”
He inclined his head. “Then Moselle it is.”
Moselle released his hand. “Please excuse me, but I would like to have a few words with my daughter.”
Duncan walked away though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to stay, stay and protect the woman he loved. He moved a short distance away and stopped. He couldn’t overhear Moselle, but he was close enough to watch the expression on Tamara’s face.
CHAPTER 13
Moselle pursed her lips. “Are you living with Duncan?”
Tamara almost laughed in her mother’s face. “Are you aware of how old I am, Mother?”
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