***
Angelique wasn’t the only person suffering from holiday angst. Back in Detroit, Adonis Cochran was sitting in the breakfast room of his brother Andrew’s house, looking glum. He’d been moody and withdrawn for most of the holiday, something most unlike him. He was usually even-tempered and extremely pleasant, with a disposition that matched his good looks. All the Cochran men were handsome, well over six feet tall with caramel skin, black wavy hair and beautiful dark eyes with long lashes and thick eyebrows. And even with this bounty of male beauty, Adonis Bennett Cochran was considered to be the best looking of the sons. The sculptured quality of his features lent him an air of distinction that was often embarrassing to him, especially since he was stuck with the name “Adonis.” He despised die name and answered only to Donnie.
Andrew’s wife, Renee, was in the adjoining kitchen cooking dinner, and took pity on Donnie. She appeared in the doorway of the breakfast room with a look of concern on her face.
“Donnie, honey, I just hate seeing you like this. Isn’t there anything I can do to cheer you up?” she asked.
He grimaced, but had the grace to look ashamed of himself. He shook his head and rose from the table. Walking over to Renee, he embraced her. “Nope, there’s not a thing you can do, unless you can talk Aneesah into changing her mind,” he said morosely. “I still can’t believe she turned me down flat,” he added, letting go of Renee and walking over to the huge refrigerator. He opened the door and stared into it as though something new and more appetizing had materialized since his last inspection fifteen minutes before.
Renee tasted the contents in her big stockpot and added a bit more basil to the fragrant spaghetti sauce she was making for dinner. She’d heard quite a bit about Donnie’s proposal during the past few days and thought now was the time to offer some sisterly advice.
“Come and sit down while I make the garlic bread. And stop poking in the refrigerator, we’ll be eating in about thirty minutes,” she reminded him.
Donnie turned away from the refrigerator with the same hangdog expression and nothing in his hands. He sat down at the tall work island across from Renee and slumped onto the butcher-block top, bracing his head with one hand while he watched her mix pressed garlic, oregano, marjoram and basil into a bowl of softened butter. His mood had been the same since a few days before Christmas, when his college sweetheart, Aneesah Shabazz, turned down his proposal of marriage. He was about to bemoan his fate again when Renee surprised him by making a few points.
“Honey, let’s talk about this. I know you and Aneesah were quite close for a long time, but your relationship basically ended when she went to graduate school in California. You became friends, not boyfriend and girlfriend, remember? And after she got both those master’s degrees and her Ph.D., she decided to move back to Michigan, but it wasn’t like she was moving back just to be with you. Now, I know you two have been dating again, but frankly, I was surprised when you announced you were going to propose to her. And I think she was just as surprised when you presented her with that ring. Well, actually I know she was, since she turned you down. I know it hurt your feelings, sweetie, but the thing is,” she paused as she gave the now-fragrant garlic butter a final stir, “I don’t think it really broke your heart.” Giving him a loving look, she began to spread the butter on the big loaves of dense Italian bread she’d sliced earlier.
Donnie made a halfhearted attempt to steal a piece of the bread and was rebuffed. He continued to look glum for a moment and then spoke. “Now you sound like Aneesah,” he admitted. “It was kind of a shock to her, I guess, because she looked pretty stunned when I whipped out the ring. Maybe I should have waited a while, given her a chance to get used to us being together again. Maybe I should have waited for her to get more settled into her new job, I don’t know. I just didn’t see the point in waiting around forever, Renee. It’s time that I was married, that I started a family.”
“Everybody’s married except me and Adam,” he continued. “And who knows when or if Adam will ever tie the knot.” He scratched the nape of his neck and brooded about the fact that he and Adam, his older brother, were the only two Cochrans who were still single.
Renee finished with the loaves of bread and wrapped them neatly in foil to prepare them for the oven. “Getting married because your siblings are married doesn’t sound like a reason to propose, Donnie. There’s got to be more to it than that,” she said gently.
Donnie nodded in agreement, but defended his position. “Look, Renee, I feel like I’m ready to get married. As far as business is concerned, things couldn’t be going better. The stations are thriving; the merger with the Deveraux Group is paying off beautifully. I’m working on some more creative outlets for Cochran Communications that look really promising. But my life can’t be all about business. I want what you and Andrew have, what Bennie and Clay have, what everyone around me seems to have in abundance. I want a real home and a real family with a loving wife and kids and I want it before I’m ninety. I don’t think that’s asking too much, do you?”
Renee regarded her brother-in-law with amazement. “Donnie, I’ve never heard you talk like this before. You’ve been so busy dating all those beautiful ladies of yours that it never occurred to me you were thinking seriously about matrimony. Or did you just start thinking about it when Aneesah moved back to Detroit?”
Donnie looked reflective for a moment, and then acknowledged that he really wasn’t sure. “All I know is Aneesah is the kind of woman I want to marry. She’s brilliant, educated, accomplished and beautiful,” he said, ticking off the points on his fingers. “And she’s the right size, which you know is a non-negotiable requirement,” he added with a laugh.
Renee made a sound of reproach but Donnie was unrepentant. He had a weakness for big, beautiful women and he made no secret of the fact that a full-figured woman was the only kind who could catch his eye. He’d never been known to date anyone who wore less than a size eighteen, and Aneesah, who was five-nine and curvy, more than fulfilled his wishes in that respect. But, as Renee was glad to inform him, those attributes weren’t enough on which to build a lasting future.
“Well, I see you’ve given this some thought,” she said ironically. “However, checking off a laundry list isn’t exactly the way to begin a relationship, much less a marriage. Just because you feel like you’re compatible with someone doesn’t mean the two of you are destined to be together. There has to be something more, you know.”
Donnie scowled and opened the refrigerator again. He was about to defend his impulsive behavior when the back door opened and a horde of little girls poured in. It wasn’t a true horde, it was merely his four nieces followed by their father, his oldest brother, Andrew. After shouting greetings to their mother, the little girls made a beeline for their uncle, who soon found himself in a tangle of arms, legs, cold cheeks, and wet kisses. Donnie, who was quite adept at removing coats and hats and scarves, made himself useful by getting his nieces out of their outdoor gear. They had been visiting relatives with their father and were quite animated as they told him about their day.
“We saw Granddaddy and Grandmommy, Uncle Donnie. And we saw our cousins, too,” reported little Andie. Andie was short for Andrea, and she was a mirror image of her mother, with velvety chocolate skin and big golden eyes. The triplets, Benita, Ceylon and Stephanie, whose chatter was punctuated by the barks of Renee’s little dogs, Patti and Chaka, made additional comments. Donnie was buried under a pile of little girls, all talking and hugging for all they were worth. He adored his nieces and reveled in their attention, but tonight their presence only served to underscore the unsettled feeling he’d been battling. He could see into the kitchen from his vantage point in the breakfast room and what he saw didn’t help his mood one bit. Even after several years of marriage, Andrew and Renee were in the warm, fragrant kitchen kissing and flirting like teenagers. Their love surrounded them like a halo of light, shining so brightly that only a fool could have missed the fact that the
y were totally in love with each other. Their closeness only underscored his odd mood, and he was more than glad when Renee announced it was time to wash up for dinner.
Renee’s excellent meal helped restore Donnie’s usual good spirits. Like all the Cochran men, he loved to eat and, luckily for him, all his brothers had married fine cooks who never minded an extra person at the table. His stepmother, Martha, was of the same school and it was perfectly possible for Donnie to have a home-cooked meal every night of the week if he so chose. He tried not to overstay his welcome in any one place, but he thoroughly enjoyed dining with his family members, like this evening. His nieces were being taught nice manners by their parents and it was a pleasure to share a meal with them. By the time the table was cleared and everyone had been served dessert, he was so mellow, nothing could have disturbed his mood. Except for an innocent remark by little Andie, that is.
“Guess what, Uncle Donnie? Auntie Angel is coming back tomorrow. Isn’t that good?”
Donnie tried not to let his dismay show on his face, but it was difficult, to say the least. Andrew, who could easily read his brother’s mind, immediately picked up on the remark.
“That really is good news, sweetie. We sure will be glad to see her, won’t we?” he asked innocently.
Donnie’s face went through several contortions in an effort to maintain a neutral expression. He knew what Andrew was up to and he wasn’t falling for it this time. He looked at the sweet little faces of his nieces, waiting for his answer, and gamely managed a smile. “Yeah, that’s great. Auntie Paris and Auntie Angel are coming back tomorrow. That’s really nice,” he said with a clenched jaw.
Refusing to let Andrew get the best of him, he looked across the table at his tormentor. “I guess I’ll go pick them up from the airport,” he said, the glint in his eyes at odds with the helpful statement.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Renee said absently as she dabbed at little Stephanie’s mouth. “I talked to Angelique last night and A. J. is going to pick them up. It’s all taken care of.”
If someone had offered him a large sum of money, Adonis couldn’t have explained why he suddenly felt left out. No one was a bigger pain than Angelique and there was no one he wanted to avoid more. So why was he suddenly feeling weird about not picking her up from the airport? Why was he even thinking about her at all? What he needed to be doing was going home and taking his dogs out for a run and trying to rid his mind of clutter. And after clearing the dishes and loading the dishwasher for Renee, that’s exactly what he did.
Chapter Two
As happy as she had been to see her family, Angelique admitted to herself that she was relieved to be back home. And yes, she did consider Detroit to be home now. She and Paris emerged from the Deveraux Group’s private jet at Detroit Metro Airport to find Alan Jandrewski waiting for them. A. J. was not only Angelique’s mentor and inspiration he was one of her closest friends. Her face lit up when she saw AJ.’s tall, lean body walking toward them. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck for the big hug she knew awaited her.
“Welcome home, Angel. How was your holiday?” he asked after a long, satisfying embrace.
“It was wonderful, how was yours? Did your mom make chitlin’ pierogies?” she teased.
A.J. laughed along with Angelique as Paris caught up with the two of them. A.J. often made jokes about how his African-American heritage blended with his Polish-American heritage in strange and wonderful ways.
“No, she didn’t put chitlins in the pierogies this time, but I’ll bet we were the only ones in the neighborhood with Czarina soup and collard greens in the same meal,” he said cheerfully.
Paris didn’t completely get the joke. “Now, what are pierogies again?” she asked.
“They’re these little dumplings that have a filling in them, either meat or potato or cheese, and they’re really good,” Angelique answered before A. J. could respond. “And Czarina soup is made with duck blood. It’s delicious.”
While Paris tried to stifle her reaction to the soup description, Angelique hugged A.J. again. “Did your parents like their present?” she asked shyly.
A J. smiled down at Angelique and put an arm around her shoulders. Kissing her on the cheek, he assured her they had loved the photograph she’d given them. It was a shot she had taken of A.J. the summer before when they were in Africa. It seemed to sum up everything there was to know about him in one shot. He’d been leaning against the mud-spattered jeep that had been their transportation through the remote villages they’d visited. He’d been wearing a ratty T-shirt, baggy khaki shorts and hiking boots, and, as always, had an expensive camera around his neck and a light meter in his hand. Angelique had captured the rakish essence of him with the radiant smile that showed off his perfect white teeth, the cleft in his chin, the golden warmth of his skin and the genuine happiness in his dark, long-lashed eyes. Even after the surgery to remove the tumor that had invaded his brain, and the grueling radiation and chemotherapy that had followed, A. J. was still an incredibly handsome man.
After the usual delay in getting the myriad suitcases and bags into AJ.’s Range Rover, the trio was at last on their way to the duplex Paris and Angelique shared. It was near Indian Village, one of several big brick houses owned by Andrew and Renee. Before his marriage to Renee, buying and remodeling older houses had been Andrew’s chief hobby; now he kept them for investments. After his marriage, his main occupation, other than his medical practice in reconstructive surgery, was doting on his wife and children. The house Paris and Angelique now occupied had been Andrew’s last residence before marrying Renee. It was typical of the houses of that era, with hardwood floors, ornate woodwork and large, beautifully proportioned rooms. The baby grand piano that was once the center of the living room was gone now, but the rooms were still attractive and welcoming to the eye.
Angelique was the one in charge of decorating; she had a flair for combining colors and finding unusual objects that made the rooms lively and inviting. She had chosen a warm color palette, with a golden apricot glaze on the heavy plaster walls. The deco-style sofa, which she’d found at a resale shop, was an unusual shade of citron with bright pillows in hot pink, red and orange. The tall windows had bamboo blinds and colorful curtains made of Indian bedspreads from Pier 1 Imports, one of her favorite stores. The coffee table and the end tables were authentic Danish modem, circa the 1960s, and had come from the Salvation Army. After a long weekend with both women working very hard, they now looked brand-new, gleaming with polish. There also was a beautiful shelving unit that housed Paris’s colorful collection of ceramic water pitchers and teapots in fanciful shapes.
The armchairs came from IKEA, and the cushions were covered in geometric prints that echoed the colors of the throw pillows. The big rug in the middle of the room also combined the warm colors in stripes; the rug was typical Angelique—she’d found colorful, handmade cotton rag rugs at Target and sewn them together by hand to yield a big, bright accent that pulled the room together beautifully. Anyone who came into the room would think a professional had decorated it, but it was just Angelique’s creativity at work. Although, as A.J. frequently reminded her, she was an artist and a professional. Further evidence of this was present in the big, happy abstract painting over the fireplace, and the photographs displayed; all were Angelique’s work. The total effect was charming as well as relaxing, as attested to by Paris and A.J., who lounged comfortably while Angelique hauled bags and suitcases upstairs. On one of her forays through the living room, A.J. grabbed her arm and pulled her down on the sofa beside him.
“Can you chill for a minute?” he said playfully. “You’ve been racing around here like a madwoman. Those suitcases aren’t going anywhere; sit a while and talk to us.”
Paris eyed her active cousin with a smile. “Please make her be still for a minute, A.J.! She has way too much energy, that’s why she never gains a pound.”
“And she’s compulsively neat, besides. The whole time we were trav
eling, our tent always looked like a Martha Stewart layout.” A.J. gave Angelique a one-armed hug and grabbed her hand to prevent her from hitting him with a throw pillow.
“I’m not compulsive,” she defended herself. “But I have to be organized, you know that. And it was really nice being home and seeing all my babies again. How was your Christmas?” she asked, deftly switching the focus of the conversation.
They chatted for a while and made plans for dinner and salsa dancing later in the week, and then both women walked A. J. to the door. After he left, Paris turned around and leaned on the heavy oak door. Heaving a deep, theatrical sigh, she closed her eyes and moaned.
“Dang, dang, dang that man is fine! I mean he is phoine/” She gave the word the “sistah girl” pronunciation. “Girl, are you sure you two are just friends? Don’t you want to just tear his clothes off and have your way with him?” When she realized her cousin wasn’t hanging around for the inquisition, she followed her into the kitchen. Finding Angelique in the process of getting out cleaning materials for the microscopic amount of dust that had accumulated while they were away, she repeated the question, this time demanding an answer.
Angelique laughed the way she always did when Paris brought up the subject. “Paris, AJ. is my friend. He’s like a brother to me and, no, we don’t secretly have the hots for each other. I used to have a crush on him a long time ago, but he’s been so good to me, and taught me so much, that the crush just went its own way. I do love him, I love him a lot, but I’m not in love with him,” she said honestly. “He really is good-looking, I’ll grant you that But believe it or not, as handsome as he is on the outside, the inside is ten times as beautiful.” She looked pensive for a moment, and then issued a soft sigh of her own. “Besides, he thinks he’s too old for me. Just because he’s forty, he thinks I’m too young!”
A Merry Little Christmas Page 2