Valentine's Fantasy: When Valentines CollideTo Love Again

by Adrianne Byrd

  Nico rose also. “And how are you going to go about doing that?”

  “Using photos of Michael, I’m going to canvass the neighborhood until someone comes forward and talks to me,” Alana informed him. “A cop got killed in their neighborhood. Maybe someone saw something and was afraid to talk to the police about it. Maybe they won’t be as reluctant to talk to me.”

  She slung her bag on her shoulder, preparing to leave.

  Grabbing her by the arm, Nico turned her around to face him. “Sweetheart, that’s a bad idea. That neighborhood has seen its share of violence. There is no way I’m going to let you do something so foolhardy.”

  Sending him a challenge with her eyes, Alana said, “And how do you suppose you’re going to stop me?”

  “I’ll handcuff you to your bed if I have to,” Nico answered. The image proved too enticing. Clearing his mind, Nico frowned at her. “I’ll help you,” he said at last. “If you have to know what Michael was doing before his death, I’ll find out for you.”

  Smiling, Alana was pleased Nico hadn’t called her bluff. There was no way she would have done what she’d threatened to do. Thank God she knew him so well. She had been counting on his deep sense of honor and duty to come to her rescue. “I’d appreciate your help,” she said, meeting his gaze. “But I’m coming along for the ride.” She offered him her hand to shake on it. Nico reluctantly took it. “I’m your new partner, Detective,” she told him.

  Nico held on to her hand as he pulled her close against him. “Not so fast, there are a few rules the junior partner must abide by because if she doesn’t, the boss—and that’s me—will call the whole thing off.”

  “I’m listening,” Alana said, her warm breath against his cheek.

  “We’re in this together. We make decisions together. You have to promise me that you won’t do anything without thinking it through. No going off half-cocked. You got me?”

  “Yes,” Alana said softly. She wished he would release her because his nearness was doing crazy things to her libido. Their eyes met and held.

  “Now that you know the rules, here is my stipulation for offering my help. When this is over and you know, once and for all, why Michael was behaving strangely just before his death, you and I will settle things between us, Alana.”

  “Agreed,” Alana breathed.

  On tiptoe, she planted a sisterly kiss on his cheek. Nico, however, caught her by the shoulders and soundly kissed her on the mouth. “I didn’t promise to play fair,” he murmured against her ear.

  He released her and Alana stumbled backward, turning the heel over on her right pump. Straightening up, she grinned at him. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “Okay. Call me when you’re ready to get started. The sooner, the better. If I’m not at home, I’ll be at Margery’s.”

  “I’ll do that,” Nico said, smiling. “Drive carefully.”

  * * *

  “I don’t know,” Maria said, exasperated. “She wouldn’t say. She just said she was going by the police station, and she’d explain everything when she arrives. El fin.”

  She turned and walked out of the room, leaving her inquisitors looking at each other with questioning expressions on their faces.

  “What do you suppose Alana is up to?” Margery asked of her best friend, romance novelist, Antoinette Shaw.

  Toni frowned, causing wrinkles to appear in her smooth brow. “You worry entirely too much about Alana. She isn’t a child any longer.”

  “I agree. If left to her own devices, Alana will get over her grief soon enough,” Genero spoke up. He sat back on the overstuffed chair in Margery’s elegantly appointed bedroom. The three of them had gone upstairs to question Maria about Alana’s message, away from the prying eyes of the myriad workers downstairs.

  “She could be dropping by the police station to make up with Nico after their misunderstanding,” Toni offered reasonably. “Alana isn’t one to hold a grudge.”

  “That would be fabulous, wouldn’t it?” Margery enthused, rising from her comfortable position on the bed. She was wearing one of her silk jogging suits. It was aquamarine with one bold fuchsia stripe down the front of it. Petite at five-three, she always wore three-inch heels. Today she was wearing a pair of white leather backless sandals by her favorite Italian designer. On a woman of lesser style and panache, the outfit would look ridiculous, but on Margery the combination was stunning. She wore her black hair in a short style, swept away from her lovely heart-shaped face.

  “That they should finally succumb to their feelings for one another would be ideal,” Toni readily agreed.

  Antoinette Shaw was quite the opposite of Margery where physical attributes were concerned. They were both forty-eight, however, Margery, who was in the limelight, never discussed her age. If pressed, she’d say, with complete sincerity, “Thirty-nine and holding.” Whereas, Toni, who was an ex-activist, being involved in the Civil Rights Movement in the sixties and a vocal opponent of the Vietnam War, was a realist and approached aging with both eyes open. Personally, she thought she’d never looked or felt better. She was statuesque, at five-eight, and had a voluptuous figure. Not overweight but definitely not under. She had high cheekbones, large, very dark, almost black eyes and a full mouth which she’d always used to full effect. She got her skin coloring, a creamy golden brown, from her mother who was of French Creole and African-American ancestry.

  “Love will prevail,” Genero said, smoothing a shiny lock of hair from his face. He had the indigo skin of his forebears, who had been West Indian born. He never discussed his lineage. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of being Jamaican. On the contrary, he was quite proud of his people. It was just that he’d found, since coming to America, that people responded more positively to the mystery that was Genero. Only his closest friends—and he counted Margery, Toni and Alana among them—knew where he came from and what he was about. All others were left to wonder, oftentimes in awe, about him. He liked it that way. What mattered was that he was one of the best chefs in California and one day he would own the most popular restaurant in Beverly Hills. At twenty-seven he had plenty of time to work toward his goal. He considered his stint with Alana as a stepping stone. He respected her prowess as a chef, and he liked her as a person.

  “I hope they do make up,” Margery said prayerfully. “My darling Alana has been mourning a man who doesn’t deserve her loyalty. However, I couldn’t come out and tell her what sort of person he was, I’d only succeed in alienating her. I couldn’t bear that. She’s my daughter. But I know several things have been nagging at her these past few months and if things work out as we wish, she and Nico could make me a grandmother by next year.”

  “Don’t get carried away,” Toni cautioned her with a grin. “A wedding first, then we’ll think about grandchildren.”

  Toni and Genero went to sit next to Margery on the big, four-poster bed, flanking her.

  “It’ll all work out,” Toni consoled her.

  “Of course it will,” Genero added brightly. He got to his feet. “I should get back down there,” he announced. “God knows what Clovis has added to the vichyssoise. For some reason, he seems to believe substituting onions for leeks is acceptable. I keep telling him that leeks have a milder flavor than onions. One must not overpower the taste buds.”

  Alone, Margery and Toni looked at one another and burst out laughing.

  “I love that boy,” Margery said confidentially. “But we have got to get him interested in something other than cooking.”

  “First things first,” Toni said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “We need to find out what’s going on with Alana before we can think of turning our attention to Genero.”

  Standing, she paced the room, looking quite regal in her African-inspired caftan. “Little did we know, thirty years ago, where a small promise would take us...”

  Toni was referring to the pact that three eighteen-year-old college freshmen had made one night as they sat, cross-legged on their dormitory beds.

  It wa
s December, nineteen sixty-seven. The three friends had been too poor to afford to go home to their respective southern states for the holidays, so they’d decided to keep each other company.

  Antoinette Shaw and Constance Moore were roommates, and Margery lived down the hall. They’d become fast friends when they’d met in June and when they found out that all three were southern belles: Antoinette hailing from New Orleans, Margery from Tupelo, Mississippi and Constance, from Birmingham, Alabama—the coincidence only cemented their friendship all the more.

  So as they sat, bemoaning their difficult state of affairs, they began to talk, as young girls will, of how much better their respective futures would be.

  Anyone looking on would have spied three lovely women-to-be dreaming impossible dreams. Making promises they would not be able to keep. However, if they could have peered into the hearts of those three, they would have been pleasantly surprised for Toni, Connie and Margery possessed a strength of will that would propel all of them to greatness.

  Constance had been blessed with a voice only the gods could have bestowed upon her. She was a voice major who was already making a name for herself. Dame Judith Iverson, the lead soprano with the Metropolitan Opera, having heard Connie sing during a visit to California State, had written the aspiring opera singer a letter expressing interest in becoming her mentor. Connie had gratefully accepted, and Dame Iverson had responded by insisting that Connie spend the summer with her in New York City, where Connie could study voice alongside some of the most promising singers in the country.

  Antoinette was a born poet. Already published by a small literary house at eighteen, she saw the world as a place to be schooled and took every opportunity to learn something new. This attitude sometimes got her in trouble though. If not for that mind-set, she might not have become involved with Charles Edward Waters, the son of a wealthy Boston businessman, and wound up expecting twins by the end of her freshman year in school. A Catholic, she didn’t even consider not having her girls, even when she found out she could not depend on Charles Edward Waters for support.

  Margery, the petite bundle of energy from Mississippi, would be the next Dorothy Dandridge even if it killed her.

  As the youngest child in a family of eight other siblings, she was used to being ignored. But the way Margery looked at it, that simply meant you had to try harder. So try, she did. As she would tell countless reporters later in life, her career began in church. Sundays would find the Devlin family in St. John Baptist Church, praising God and tiny Margery waiting for her chance to shine. From the age of three, she recited poems that left the congregation genuinely moved. By the time she reached puberty, she was director of the Christmas pageant. No one else had Margery’s flair for the dramatic. She could take the meager props the destitute church could ill afford and turn them into a magical wonderland. Churchgoers often filed out of one of Margery’s productions with tears streaming down their contented faces. It wasn’t surprising to anyone in Tupelo when Margery Devlin won a scholarship to study acting in far off California.

  That night, in sixty-seven, they made three promises to one another. Number one: to always be there for one another when they were needed. Number two: to be supportive of each other’s careers wherever possible. And lastly, to take care of each other’s offspring should anything happen to one of them, God forbid.

  As the years passed, Constance became a principal singer with the Metropolitan Opera. She married Dr. Garth Shelby and gave birth to Alana Margery Antoinette Shelby. With hard work and determination, she’d made all her dreams come true. Then on a stormy October night in 1987, while leaving a party, she and Garth were killed by a truck driver who had swerved to avoid hitting another car that had stalled on the highway.

  Both Margery and Toni had been at the apex of their careers. Margery was the most sought-after African-American actress in Hollywood, having won an Oscar for her role as a long-suffering mother in the drama, The Living Is Easy. She was at the much dreamed of point in her journey where she could pick and choose roles and be paid an exorbitant amount for doing something she loved. Unfortunately her personal life wasn’t going as well for she was in the process of divorcing her husband, actor Daniel Lincoln, for adultery.

  Toni, an award-winning novelist, was the darling of the San Francisco literary world. The mother of twin teenaged daughters, Georgette, a superior student, and Briane, another Margery who was following in her auntie’s footsteps by becoming an actress. Toni had chosen singlehood, being unable to give her heart to another man after having it trampled on by Charles Edward Waters, who had never tried to be a part of his daughters’ lives.

  Following the loss of Alana’s parents, Margery and Toni agreed that she should go to live with Margery in San Francisco. It helped that Connie and Garth had left very clear instructions in their wills that Alana should be taken care of by Margery and Toni, the particulars to be decided by the two friends. So for the first five years after her parents’ deaths, Alana was the charge of her two doting aunts. Then five years ago, Toni moved back to New Orleans where she could keep an eye on her elderly parents.

  “I feel so guilty, having to resort to subterfuge,” Toni said, turning to look at Margery.

  “There is nothing wrong with looking out for your child’s best interests,” Margery said stoically. “We won’t do anything per se. We’ll simply observe and see what develops. Watch and hope.”

  “It’s already been over a year and she’s still having those dreams. I know because she told me about the last one. What I don’t know is why the guilt? What reason does Alana have for feeling guilty?”

  “Who knows?” Margery shrugged, sighing. “Maybe they argued just before he went out and got himself killed. Widows often experience guilt associated with their husbands’ deaths. It isn’t uncommon.”

  “I wish she would confide in us more,” Toni said wistfully. “She needs someone to talk to. When I suggested she see a therapist, she just laughed. ‘Aunt Toni,’ she said, ‘I’m not a basketcase. I’m simply grieving in my own way. Can’t you respect that?’” Toni mimicked Alana’s voice almost perfectly. “Of course I can respect that.”

  “She’s always been loyal to those she loves,” Margery reminded Toni. “Losing her parents like that was hard on her and then to lose her husband to a violent death. He was the only man she ever considered herself in love with. She may never be fully over him.” She glanced over at Toni, her eyes filled with amusement. “Remind you of anyone?”

  “I am not still in love with Charles Edward Waters,” Toni disavowed. She turned away, going to stand at the French doors and peer out at the hills behind Margery’s home. “If anything, I’d like to get my hands around his scrawny neck and squeeze. I didn’t need him, but the least he could have done was to be a father to his daughters.”

  “The last time I saw him,” Margery said, coming to join Toni at the French doors, “he wasn’t a bit scrawny. He was as vital and handsome as he was nearly thirty years ago, maybe even better looking. You know how black men tend to grow into their own after a certain age? Well, the man is ripe, darling. And now that he is no longer married, maybe...”

  “Maybe nothing,” Toni said with finality, her dark eyes flashing fire. “Girl, you’d better control those matchmaking tendencies of yours because if Charles Edward and I were ever accidentally thrown together again, someone would be dead in a matter of minutes and it wouldn’t be yours truly.”

  “All right,” Margery placated her. “I’m sorry I even brought it up.”

  The intercom on the wall near the bedroom door buzzed, and she walked over to it and pressed the talk button. “Margery here.”

  “Red alert,” Genero said cheerfully. “Alana has arrived and is presently giving Maria the four-one-one.”

  “We’ll be right down,” Margery replied crisply. Then to Toni, “Come on, let’s go see how far the game is afoot, my dear Watson.”

  “After you, Sherlock,” Toni said, smiling.

  * *
*

  “We’re going to have to let you go, Karen,” Miss Ekert said, looking down her bifocals into Karen Robinson’s stricken face. “I’m sorry, but the company is downsizing. I’m afraid your position has been eliminated.”

  Karen hadn’t been cognizant of a word past the phrase “let you go.” She was mentally calculating the cost of the gas she’d used to come to work this morning only to be fired. Let go. Such a pleasant-sounding euphemism. Why didn’t she call it by its true name? Fired, canned, eviscerated. God knows, her gut felt like someone had just stuck a knife in it.

  “But you told me only last week, that I was doing an excellent job,” Karen said hopefully.

  “You are a good receptionist, Karen,” Miss Ekert said, her voice sympathetic. “But that isn’t the point. The company’s losing money, we’ve got to unload unnecessary luxuries and unfortunately your position is a luxury. Anyone coming into this real estate office can be greeted by any available agent.”

  “I’ll take a cut in pay,” Karen offered, close to desperation. “But I need this job.”

  “We thought of that option,” her boss said sadly. “We still couldn’t swing it. I’m very sorry. I’ll give you the best letter of recommendation I can compose, Karen. I’m truly sorry.”

  “Sorry” doesn’t put food in my son’s mouth, Karen thought with acrimony. But what do you care? You come to work in a Benz, dressed in designer outfits every day.

  Miss Ekert placed a sealed number-ten envelope in Karen’s outstretched palm.

  “We were able to provide you with two weeks of severance pay, plus this week’s check. I hope that helps,” Miss Ekert said, sounding as though she’d been more than generous. She managed a weak smile. “You are not required to work the rest of the day. Unless, of course, you want to.” There was a hopeful tone to Miss Ekert’s voice that enraged Karen.

  “No,” Karen said, barely able to contain her anger. She got her purse from the lower drawer of her desk. Two years. Two years and this was how they treated her? She’d given her all to this job. She never wore a sour expression. Her voice was always pleasant and professional. She was the first person customers saw when they walked through the door, and she made certain they were not put off. On several occasions, she had overheard customers praising her because of her cheerful attitude. Now she looked at Miss Ekert with lackluster eyes. “I’ll just get out of your way. There are a few hours left in the day. I should put my time to good use by looking for another job.”