by Donna Hill
“Ms. Moore?”
Stephanie looked up and hot damn it was Morris Chestnut’s dad or a darn good look-alike. He was a dead ringer for the actor or rather what the actor’s father must look like: tall, chocolate dark and layered in the matured assurance of masculinity.
“Yes, I’m Stephanie.” She stood and extended her hand.
“Anthony Dixon. Everyone calls me Tony,” he said, taking her hand. He smiled. She stuttered.
“Glad…you could make it. My office isn’t set up yet, so I hope this isn’t an inconvenience.”
“Not at all.” He took a seat and put his portfolio on the table.
“You mention in your information that you do company brochures, logos, etcetera.”
“Yes.” He flipped open his portfolio and turned several sheets until he reached the sample he was looking for.
Stephanie was fixated on his lashes. They were inky black, long and gently curled. And there was a subtle, intangible, stirring scent that floated lightly around him. She felt compelled to move closer and inhale until her lungs were full. That is, until she spotted the simple gold band on that telltale finger.
Damn, damn, damn. What am I, some kind of married-man magnet? Is it written on my forehead?
“…this one is the corporate brochure I did for Virgin Records.”
Stephanie snapped to attention. This was business. Probably best that he was married. She would be forced to concentrate on the project and not what his lips would feel like brushing across her…
“What did you have in mind?”
“Excuse me, I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
He smiled and it nearly did her in. Good teeth.
“I was asking if you had any ideas in mind.”
“Actually, yes. Let me give you some background on the project….”
They talked for more than an hour, her next appointment all but forgotten. Anthony was easygoing, intelligent, a brilliant graphic artist, as well as an accomplished photographer, and he gave her some good ideas. He’d worked for some of the major firms in the city, having started out as a copywriter at Ogilvy and Mather, one of the top ad agencies in the country. By the time their meeting concluded, she was sure she’d found the right person for the job.
Stephanie stuck out her hand. “If you’re willing to take on four women, you have the job.”
“I love a challenge.” He shook her hand. “When can I get over to the house to take some preliminary shots?”
She turned on her Axim and used the stylus to check her calendar. “How’s next Monday, about two?”
He turned on his Palm Pilot and confirmed. “Not a problem.”
“Great.” She checked her watch. “Oh no!”
“What?”
“I was supposed to meet someone nearly twenty minutes ago.” She shoved her folder into her oversize shoulder bag and jumped up.
“Maybe you should give them, him, her a call.” He handed her his cell phone.
“Right. Thanks.” She took his phone even though she had one of her own. She punched in the number from memory and listened to it ring. His phone had his scent, too, she noticed as it floated to her brain.
“Hi, Sylvia. This is Stephanie Moore, I am so sorry…”
She breathed a sign of relief when she hung up. “We’ve rescheduled,” she said, and handed him back his phone. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Uh, can I drop you off somewhere?” He gathered up his presentation materials.
“Thanks. I have my car.” She hesitated, wishing she could draw out the moment a little while longer.
“Then I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Two o’clock. Any problems, give me a call.”
“Sure.”
They walked out together.
“My car is right across the street,” Stephanie said, pointing to her BMW.
“Nice ride.”
She grinned up at him. “Thanks. A treat to myself for my last big account.”
“Must have been some account.”
“Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day,” she said, and smiled.
“Love to hear that story.”
“See you Monday,” she said, and sauntered across the street.
What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? She put the car in gear, checked her mirrors and pulled off. She was flirting with an obviously married man. Maybe it was some kind of defect in her personality, some masochistic gene that reared its ugly head whenever a married man entered her sphere. Not again, never again. No matter how sexy, handsome, rich, famous or intelligent. No more married men. Period.
She repeated the mantra all the way to her next appointment, but all during the meeting with Sylvia, she couldn’t keep Anthony “Tony” Dixon off her mind.
This was not good.
When she arrived at the facility, the staff was preparing the residents—they preferred the term residents as opposed to patients—for dinner.
“Ms. Moore,” the head nurse greeted her. “You’ll be joining Samantha for dinner?”
“Yes. How is she today?”
The nurse smiled. “She had a very good day today. She actually seemed happy.”
“Thanks. I’ll go see her now.”
Stephanie walked down the pristine hallway to her sister’s room. She knocked lightly on the door and walked in.
Samantha was sitting in a chair by the window.
“Hey, sweetie.” Stephanie slowly approached. “How are you today?” She stroked Samantha’s hair and knelt down in front of her. “It’s me, Steph.” She lifted Samantha’s chin with the tip of her finger so that their eyes met. Stephanie smiled and for an instant a brief light of recognition seemed to shine in Samantha’s eyes. But like morning mist it disappeared.
Stephanie pulled up a chair and sat in front of Samantha. “I want to talk to you about some things. So much has been going on.” She held her sister’s hands as she told her all about her job, the mistakes she’d made with Conrad, the opportunity that was opening up for her with the spa, and starting her own business. She laughed, she talked and she cried, unburdening her soul, needing to get it all out to someone who wouldn’t judge her, wouldn’t think less of her. She rested her head on her sister’s lap and something she only dreamed about happened.
She felt her sister’s hand on her hair, patting her head the way she used to when they were little girls. The moment was so precious, so fragile, so surreal she dared not move.
Stephanie slowly reached up and took Samantha’s hand and held it. She lifted her head and looked into Sam’s eyes, hoping against hope that she would see something behind those vacant brown eyes. And for the first time in more than a decade she did. Herself. And then the moment was gone.
“Sam, Sam, come back to me,” she pleaded. “Please.” She clasped Samantha’s cheeks in her palms. But Samantha had retreated to that place that Stephanie could not reach.
When Stephanie returned home she was ready to call it a night, even though it was only eight o’clock. After the visit with Samantha she was mentally and emotionally exhausted.
She hung up her jacket and took her cell phone out of her bag to put it on the charger and was surprised to see that a message was waiting for her. Must have come in while she had it turned off at the facility.
She dialed in for her message. And the last person she needed to hear from was on the other end. Anthony Dixon.
“It was great meeting you and I’m really happy that you selected me to work on your project. I know this may seem out of line, but I’d rather ask on the phone than in person and get shot down. I was hoping that on Monday after our meeting at the house I could take you out, maybe for a drink or to listen to some music in the Village. Anyway, you have a few days to think it over. Have a great evening and I’ll see you on Monday.”
She played the message again just to make sure she’d heard him right. She blew out a breath and pressed the off button on her phone.
She’d heard him right. Damn, damn, damn.
Ann Marie was working on the paperwork to get Stephanie’s PR business incorporated. She’d settled on using her name for her corporation, which made things pretty easy. Ann Marie had done a name search and it was clear. The whole process would take a few weeks, but in the meantime she’d gotten Stephanie set up with a doing-business-as certificate until her official paperwork came through.
Funny how things work out, she thought as she sealed the forms in the envelope, ready to be mailed. She and Stephanie, for reasons that escaped them both, had never really gotten along. Their very strong personalities always clashed. So for them to have found a way to bridge the divide was a major accomplishment. She supposed she owed some of that to her budding relationship with Raquel. Having Raquel back in her life had changed her, forced her to examine her past, her present and her motives for living her life the way she had. She knew deep in her heart that she still had a long way to go to heal the wounds of her youth, but even small steps can eventually get you to where you want to go.
They were scheduled to meet later that evening at Barbara’s place to go over the details and bring each other up to speed on what had been accomplished so far. She put all her notes together and slipped them into her briefcase to take with her. She had a closing that morning on a commercial property in Queens and wouldn’t be back in the office. As a matter of fact, she needed to hurry. The president was in town for a meeting at the U.N. and she knew traffic in Manhattan would be horrific.
She was just getting ready to leave when the office secretary knocked on her door.
“These just arrived.”
Ann Marie couldn’t see the secretary’s face for the profusion of flowers that she held in her hands. She jumped up from her seat and helped set the flowers on her desk.
“Where in the world did these come from?” she asked while searching for a card.
“FTD dropped them off and I signed for them. That’s all I know. But someone thinks you’re really special.” She turned and walked out.
Ann Marie stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the riot of color. There had to be at least three dozen roses in all of their colors resting in the most exquisite crystal vase. She gently moved the blooms around, hunting for the card. She found it tucked down inside.
Excited, she pulled the card out of the tiny envelope.
“I miss you desperately. Terrance.”
She stumbled back. Her hands shook. Terrance? What kind of bloody trick was this? She read the card again. Yep, that’s what it said. But it couldn’t be right. Terrance had no idea where she was and that’s the way she wanted to keep it.
Her heart raced and his devilishly handsome face sprung before her eyes. Her mind ran in a million directions at once. She couldn’t get her thoughts together. She spewed a string of cusswords before darting out to the front office.
“Carol, you said you signed for the flowers.”
“Yes?” She frowned in confusion. “Is something wrong?”
“Where did you say they came from?”
She shrugged for a moment. “FTD, those flower-delivery people.”
Ann Marie’s eyes darted around the room, searching for someplace to land. She bit down on her newly manicured nail. “Can you get me the 800 number? No, never mind, I’ll do it myself.” She ran back to her cubicle, forced herself to sit down and concentrate on the numbers on the phone. After several tries she got the operator who connected her to FTD headquarters.
She listened to elevator music for a good five minutes and knew she was going to scream if someone didn’t talk to her and soon. Finally, a too-cheery sales rep got on the phone.
Ann Marie talked so fast, her accent so thick, the rep had to stop her and beg her to start over. Ann Marie drew in a long calming breath. She shut her eyes for an instant and started again.
“I just received a delivery. I need to know who sent it and from where. Can you do that?”
“I’ll do the best I can, ma’am.” She asked Ann Marie a couple of questions and then put her on hold.
Ann Marie held the phone in a death grip as she paced the tiny confines of her space.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes!”
“The order was placed by a Terrance Bishop.”
She felt faint. “Can you tell where it was sent from?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t. It was done online. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“No…thank you.”
“Enjoy your flowers, ma’am, and thank you for using FTD.”
Ann Marie plopped down in her seat and stared at nothing. How did he find her? Better still, why had he looked? What did he want? I miss you desperately. Her temples pounded. She hadn’t seen him in more than twenty years. He was a part of her past that she dare not revisit.
Her intercom buzzed and she leaped an inch in the air.
“Yes?”
“You’re going to be late for the closing.”
Ann Marie swallowed hard. “Thanks. I’m leaving now.”
She shook her head to clear it, gathered her things and left the office. When she stepped outside she surveyed the street like a CIA operative. Was he out there? Was he watching? Was he going to walk up behind her and whisper something naughty in her ear and all would be lost—again?
She circled the block three times before she finally found her car, right where she’d parked it. Get a grip. You’re really losing it. She took a minute to collect herself once she was behind the wheel, but all the way from Manhattan to Queens she kept seeing Terrance’s grinning face in every man she encountered.
The closing was a complete blur, as was the rest of her day. By the time she arrived at Barbara’s house she was a basket case.
“What in the world is wrong with you?” Barbara asked when Ann Marie came through the door.
She had a vacant look in her eyes, she’d chewed off all her lipstick and her hands were visibly shaking.
“Nothing.” She walked past Barbara and into the living room where she immediately took a fresh bottle of Courvoisier out of her purse and poured a two-finger drink.
Barbara shut the door and followed Ann Marie inside. The last time she’d looked so out of sorts it was because Raquel had turned up on her doorstep. But that time, Ann Marie was more “vexed,” as she would have put it, this time she looked almost terrified.
“Did something happen?” Barbara asked tentatively.
Ann Marie looked up at her. “I got flowers today.”
“That’s a good thing. Isn’t it?” Her lips curled in a semblance of a smile.
“No, mon, it ain’t no good t’ing.”
“Oh.” She sat down.
Ann Marie placed her bottle of brandy on the table. “They from Terrance.”
“Who?”
“Terrance, chile. Terrance Bishop, Raquel’s pop.”
Barbara’s neck jerked back. “Oh.” She thought he was dead or worse. Guess not.
The doorbell rang.
“Be right back.”
Ann Marie grabbed Barbara by the wrist. “Don’t say nutin’ to dem, hear.”
“Uh, sure. No problem.” She went to the door. It was Stephanie and Elizabeth.
“Come on in.” Then in a hush, “Don’t mention anything to Ann Marie about…anything.”
They grimaced. “What?” they chimed off-key.
“Just come in and don’t say anything,” she said, barely moving her lips.
Stephanie huffed and walked in. Elizabeth shot Barbara a curious look and followed Stephanie inside.
Following Barbara’s cryptic instructions, Elizabeth and Stephanie sat down and didn’t say a word, not even hello, thinking that simple salutation might be off limits, too.
Ann Marie looked from one to the other then shot Barbara a death stare.
“She told ya, didn’t she?”
They shook their heads, not daring to speak.
“I swear, I didn’t say a word.” Barbara crossed her heart.
Ann Marie poured herself another drink. “Well, if ya must know…”
In a series of halting sentences, Ann Marie told them all about Terrance Bishop, how she came to meet him, love him and leave him. And now, somehow he’d found her.
“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Elizabeth offered.
Ann Marie shook her head. “If ever there was a man no good for a woman it’s ’im.”
“But why, Ann?” Barbara asked. “You said you loved him, and if he can upset you this much so many years after the fact, maybe you still do.”
She lowered her head, resting her arms on her thighs. “He the only man that can make me lose myself, lose my control over my feelings. When I’m with him I don’t know who I am anymore. He consumes me.”
Stephanie, of all people, slid next to Ann Marie on the couch and put her arm around her shoulders. “But you’re not sixteen anymore, Ann, you’re a big woman, as you would say. If he does come back, you can handle him.”
She looked up at Stephanie, doubt wavering in her eyes. “Ya t’ink?”
“Yeah, me t’ink.” She grinned and Ann Marie smiled for the first time all night.
“You’re right, I’m a big woman now. Not some innocent t’ing he can do what he want wit’.”
“Exactly!” Elizabeth said.
Barbara breathed in relief. It was a tough job being the bearer of secrets, so she figured she might as well unburden herself, too.
She stood up. “Now that we have that out of the way…”
Chapter 39
“Oh…my goodness,” Elizabeth said.
Stephanie stood up to get a better look. “Is it real?”
“Chile, me no care if you keep the man or not, keep the damn ring,” Ann Marie said.
Barbara slipped the ring on her finger and showed it off. “It is something, isn’t it?”
“What are you going to do, are you going to marry him?” Elizabeth asked.
Barbara pursed her lips. “I’ve been thinking it over. Hard. I don’t know.”