by Donna Hill
“But you’re right,” Barbara admitted, regaining a serious tone. “I do need to come to terms with my feelings, squash all my doubts once and for all.”
“You owe it to yourself, to Michael, and to Wil.” She reached across the table and took Barbara’s hands in hers. “You have two men who love you. And parts of you love both of them for different reasons. But one man deserves all of Barbara Allen. And you deserve to spend the rest of your life happy, not second-guessing your decisions.”
“Thanks,” Barbara said softly and squeezed Elizabeth’s hands with affection. “You’re always there for me.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“Speaking of friends, I’ve been kind of concerned about Stephanie. She acted so weird the other night at my house when we were talking about the guy you met through Ron.” Barbara got up from the table, collected the cups and plates, then put them in the sink.
“Yeah.” Elizabeth’s expression pinched. “She’s been pretty self-contained lately. Steph was always the outgoing, nonstop-talking party girl of the group. But lately she seems so different.”
“I know. The couple of times I’ve run into her at the spa she’s pleasant but distracted.”
“Honestly, she hasn’t been the same since that crazy man and his crazier wife started harassing her.”
“I guess I would be on edge too if I was getting harassing phone calls and my married ex-lover pops up at my place of employment.”
“You have a point there. I would have thought that with her finally settling down with Tony her anxiety would disappear.”
Barbara turned from the sink, hand on hip, brow arched and knowing. “Now we both know that men and anxiety are one and the same—one way or the other.”
Elizabeth let out a laugh. “Girl, you ain’t nevah lie!” She got up from the table and stretched. “Well, since you chased Michael away and pissed off Wil, and Ron is going to hang out with his friend Ali, why don’t we go to a movie later on after work? If it doesn’t snow.”
“Sounds good. That new movie with Terrance Howard is out.”
“Works for me.”
“Speaking of which, we need to get over to the spa and open up.”
“Ah, yes, the drudgery of watching muscle-bound men, dripping in sex appeal and sweat, wearing formfitting T-shirts all day long. Humph, it really wears me out!”
Barbara chuckled. “Tough life we have, but somebody’s gotta do it.” She walked toward the front and got their coats from the closet. “With you doing all this man watching, how are things going with you and Ron?” She handed Elizabeth her coat.
“Couldn’t be happier. I feel like I’ve been emancipated after damn near thirty years of marriage to Matthew.”
“At least you can finally say his name,” Barbara teased, referring to the time when he could only be referred to as “that bastard.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly. “And do you know that for all the hell he put me through with that little hussy of an assistant of his, they aren’t even together?”
“Get outta here.” She closed the closet and put on her coat.
Elizabeth draped her scarf around her neck. “Yep. He told the girls a couple of weeks ago when he stopped in the restaurant.”
Barbara opened the door and they walked out. “At least he stays in touch with his children.”
“For what it’s worth,” she groused.
“What would you do if Matt tried to come back to you?” She turned and locked her apartment door.
“Please don’t even say the words. It’s something I’d rather not entertain as a thought.”
They headed down the hallway. “We really need to have breakfast together more often,” Barbara said. “Gives us a chance to fill in all the gaps.”
“And there’s always something.”
They stepped out into the biting air. “You got that right. There always is.”
Chapter 10
Stephanie had just gotten off the phone with the phone company to have her number changed and was appalled at the hoops she had to jump through. The bottom line was if she was receiving annoying phone calls, they suggested buying a whistle and whistling into the phone each time the culprit called, keeping a logbook of the dates and times of the calls, and advising the caller that she would report them if they didn’t stop. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. The truth of it was, the rep confessed, they were running out of phone numbers in her area, and if these measures didn’t help in a month’s time they would issue her a new number.
The only consolation was that she hadn’t received any more calls from Marilyn in the past couple of weeks, but she hadn’t received any calls from Tony, either.
She’d been so confident that he would have seen the light by now and called her. She supposed she could have called him as well. But that would have painted her as weak and not willing to stand by her convictions.
This was all so stupid, she thought, walking into her kitchen. She put two slices of bread in the toaster, then hunted around in the fridge for a container of yogurt.
If she was honest with herself she would admit how much she missed him. The things Terri had said to her the other day still rang in her head.
What was she so afraid of, and a bigger question, where did her fears of commitment stem from?
All of her friends seemed to have come to terms with their lives, loves, and expectations. They’d found that place inside themselves where they could allow someone else to cohabit. Why couldn’t she? What was wrong with her?
She was strong, intelligent, good-looking, terribly afraid, and very alone.
You’re not alone, she heard Tony say. I’m here for you if you let me.
The toast popped. She stared at it for a moment, then abruptly walked out of the kitchen.
It was barely nine in the morning. If Tony’s schedule hadn’t changed dramatically in the past couple of weeks, he should still be home. She grabbed her coat and purse and hurried out.
It took her twenty minutes to get to Lower Manhattan and another fifteen to find a parking space where she felt reasonably comfortable that she wouldn’t get a ticket or, worse, towed.
It had begun to rain while she was en route, an icy rain that went right through your bones. From the looks of things between swats from her windshield wipers, the icy rain was turning to icy slush. She peered over into the backseat hoping she’d stashed her umbrella on the floor. When she leaned over the seat to get it, she noticed a couple coming out of Tony’s building huddled together under a huge black umbrella.
She almost ignored them before she realized that the man with his arm around the woman was Tony. The woman looked up at him with a smile on her face. He leaned down and picked the little girl up into his arms and hugged her tight. Stephanie felt paralyzed.
The trio walked to an SUV parked a few feet from his building. Tony opened the passenger door for the woman, strapped the little girl into a booster seat in the back, then ran around the front and got behind the wheel of the car. They drove off, but were stopped at the corner for a red light.
Stephanie finally found her senses and jumped out of her car into the middle of the wet street, nearly losing her footing on the slippery asphalt. Well, what are you going to do, silly, stand here or run them down? The rain and ice came faster. In seconds she was drenched.
The SUV started to pull off. It had Connecticut plates.
Stephanie hurried back to her car to write the number down before she forgot. As she did, a million thoughts ran through her head: Who was that woman and little girl with Tony and what was she going to do with the license plate number?
She stared at the number scrawled on the back of an envelope. Water from her hair dripped onto it. She pushed her soaking hair away from her face. Connecticut. Why hadn’t she gotten out of the car when she recognized him? Because she’d done what millions of women have done for ages—freeze. Now he could always come back and say, “It wasn’t me.” Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just someone who loo
ked like him. After all, she was on the other side of the street. Her range of vision was hampered by the weather.
That was probably it. She was being silly, looking for trouble where there wasn’t any. She took a brush from her purse and brushed her wet hair back into a ponytail and held it together with a rubber band that she’d found in the glove compartment. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, then added a dash more lipstick.
All this foolishness and the mind games she was playing with herself would be squashed when she rang Tony’s bell. He was probably upstairs fixing one of his fabulous breakfasts. She grabbed her umbrella and her purse and got out. The instant she put her foot down in the icy mess she wished she’d worn her boots instead of loafers as if it were June instead of February.
She crossed the street as quickly as she could and ducked into his building, sidestepping a teen who had every inch of her ear pierced and adorned and a hoop earring through her nose. Her mother would have killed her, she thought absently as she walked to the bank of doorbells in the foyer.
She quickly scrolled the list and located T. Dixon, 8B. Tony lived in one of those humongous prewar buildings that had two sides—the odd and the even. She pressed the bell and waited, rehearsing her little speech in her head.
No answer. Her stomach jerked.
He had to be there. She pressed the bell again.
No answer.
Slowly she turned from the bank of names and numbers just as someone was coming out. She quickly turned around and hurried inside before the door shut.
Probably in the shower, she told herself as she crossed the black and white marble floor to the elevator. Didn’t hear the bell, that’s all.
The elevator arrived, she stepped on, pressed 8, and waited, thankful that there was no one else on board with whom she’d feel compelled to either make small talk with or ignore.
The doors opened. She stepped out and turned right. His apartment was at the end of the hall. She drew in a breath, raised her hand, and knocked. She waited and listened closely for any signs of life.
Nothing.
She pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed his home number. She listened to the phone ring and ring from inside until his voice came through on the answering machine. She didn’t bother to leave a message, and all the ugly thoughts she didn’t want to think about rushed to the surface.
It was Tony she’d seen getting into that SUV with a woman and a child.
Stephanie looked at the door one last time, then headed back to the elevator. Before she got on she called his cell phone. His voice mail was her answer. She didn’t bother to leave a message there, either. What was the point?
She returned to her car. The icy rain had turned to a driving snow. She didn’t even notice as she made her way across the street.
Mindlessly she got behind the wheel. For several moments she simply sat there, the world around her growing dimmer, blanketed in white. By rote she turned on the car, the heat, the windshield wipers.
This is what she got, she concluded as she put the car in gear. The minute she was ready to let down her guard…
Her throat constricted. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. But she did anyway.
Chapter 11
“It’s really coming down out here,” Ron said, pulling his coat collar up around his neck.
“They said a ‘chance’ of snow,” Ali said, as they exited the pool hall. “But I swear the weathermen don’t know any more than the aches in my knees.”
Ron chuckled. “You got that right.” He stuck his hands in thick black leather gloves. “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Wanna go over to Delectables?”
“Sure. Food’s good and the service is better. I’ll follow you in my car.”
“I’m parked down the street. See you there.” He hunched his shoulders against the wind and trudged down the block.
“Man, it feels good in here,” Ali said, stomping his feet on the welcome mat once he got inside the restaurant.
Ron snatched his wool watchman cap from his head and brushed snow off his wide shoulders. “You would think with weather like this the place would be empty.”
Delectables had two medium-sized rooms with about eight tables in each section as well as counter seating for five. From what Ron could tell, there were maybe three available tables in the whole place.
“Well, hello.” Dawne walked over and pecked Ron on the cheek, then turned to Ali. “Good to see you again.” She put her hands on narrow hips. “You guys picked a great day to come out and play.”
“Looks like a lot of other people thought the same thing,” Ali said.
“I know. It’s so weird, nice weather and folks trickle in. Blizzard and we can barely keep up with the orders.” She shrugged her right shoulder. “New Yorkers. Go figure.”
“Do you have help?” Ron asked, wondering how only she and her twin sister, Desiree, could manage.
“Oh yeah. We hired two part-time waitresses who come in whenever we need extra help and we have two cooks.” She laughed lightly. “Our part-time help has become more full-time since Desi and I have been supplying the food for the spa. But it’s all good. So.” She clapped her hands together. “Can I get you a table or something to go?”
Ron hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “I’m in no hurry to go back out there.”
Dawne grinned. “Follow me.” She snatched up two menus from the rack and led them to a vacant table at the far side of the counter in the front room.
Once they were seated and had placed their orders, Ron asked Ali how his apartment hunting was going.
“Slow. Seen plenty of great places, but these New York prices are highway robbery.” He shook his head in disgust. “They really don’t want us here anyway,” he said, easily slipping into his militant stance. “And one way to ensure that is to price us out of the market.”
“The powers that be will never admit that, though. I see it every day in the construction business. One neighborhood after another being ‘revitalized.’”
“That’s the code word for homogenized—all the color and vitality and culture drained out.”
Ron bobbed his head in agreement. “Exactly.” He glanced toward the door when it opened. “There’s one of the fabulous foursome.”
Ali looked over his shoulder and his stomach knotted.
Stephanie walked up to the counter without seeing them. Ron got up and walked over to her.
“Hey, Steph. Picked a bad day to go out and play.”
She turned, looked at him with dull eyes, and forced a smile. “Hi, Ron. Figured I’d grab something and head home.”
He looked at her more closely. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Just cold.”
“You’re welcome to join us.” He glanced over his shoulder toward Ali.
Stephanie followed his movement. A moment of recollection darted around in her head. She blinked, looked again.
“He’s a friend of yours?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’d swear he was the same man who kept me from falling on my behind a few days ago.”
“Could be. He’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t let a woman fall on her behind—if he could help it,” he added with a grin.
Maybe some company right now would be a good thing, she thought. The idea of sitting alone in her apartment was becoming a more unappealing notion with each tick of the clock.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Come on.”
She followed him to the table. The low buzz of conversation, soft music playing from some hidden source, mixed with the tantalizing aromas of tempting food all made the chill that had permeated her bones slowly begin to thaw. She unbuttoned her three-quarter navy blue car coat, then extended her hand.
“I do believe we’ve met before.”
Ali rose, standing a full head above her five-foot-nine body. This time Stephanie got a good look at her knight in sh
ining armor. Not only was he tall but he was built like a football player—broad muscular shoulders and arms that were clearly visible beneath the fitted knit shirt. His hands were large but gentle as he shook hers, but the palms were rough, testifying to a man who worked hard for his money. His head was bald and he had a warm chestnut complexion with dark wide eyes and thick brows. Upon first look one would think he was much younger than he was. But she could tell that this was a mature man, much older than her from the lines of experience around his mouth and the depth of it in his eyes.
Something flickered in his eyes, ticked in his left cheek. His smile was broad and inviting.
“Oh yes, on the sidewalk.”
“That’s me. You saved me from much pain and embarrassment.”
“Anytime.” He released her hand and quickly came around to pull out and hold her chair as she sat down.
“At least let me make formal introductions,” Ron interrupted. “Stephanie Moore, this is Ali Aziz.”
Stephanie’s eyes widened. “You’re the Ali that Elizabeth told us about. You were a Black Panther.”
“Word gets around.” He chuckled and returned to his seat. “Yes, I was and still am at heart. I was one of the founding members of the Atlanta Chapter, which is where I met this guy when he was no more than a kid.” He chucked Ron in the arm.
“That is so incredible. We could sure use some Black Panthers today,” she said, pulling her chair closer to the table. She shrugged off her coat and let it fall over the back of the chair and inadvertently caught an unguarded expression on Ali’s face. The guileless look that coats your countenance when you think no one is watching. A jolt of something snapped inside her. Her heart hammered for an instant and then slowed.
“Hey, Ms. Stephanie. I didn’t see you come in,” Dawne said.
Stephanie gave her head a short sharp shake to dispel the funny feeling she had, then looked up at Dawne. “Yeah, I kinda slid in. Busy evening?”
“Very. Can I get you something?”
“Your fabulous vegetable soup would be perfect.”