Sometimes Love

by Victoria Kennedy

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I was falling in love with my apartment more and more every day. It was the only place that was truly a reflection of me. Growing up, my room was my only space, and that was decorated according to my mother’s creative whims. At Phillip’s, I became a part of what he’d already created and fit into what was there. That same thing went for Humphrey’s apartment. It had been set up to suit him and I just found a way to exist there as comfortably as I could. My own place, however, was different. Every chair, every pillow, placemat, and dish was of my choosing, chosen to cater to my own comfort. I looked forward to the environment I’d created every day. It was a combination of modern, traditional and Mediterranean all rolled together. Michael had helped me paint the walls in my bedroom to create a muted peach haven and my bed was loaded with pillows and ivory gauze curtains swayed with the breeze coming through my window. There were candles everywhere—in wall sconces, on tables and over the fireplace in the living room, in my bedroom and my bathroom.

  I had a sunroom off o f m y bedroom that I used f or m y breakfast room and office. I kept my desk, and computer there and bookcases nestled beneath the windows so that my view of Mt. Vernon Park was not obstructed. I hung simple houseplants to give the place some life and prayed I wouldn’t kill them. A small round table with two chairs provided a nice space to enjoy my latte from the corner café in the mornings, my tea in the evenings, or Sunday brunches—with company if I chose.

  Things were finally running smoothly in my life—not too many bumps. I was working again with Michael, concentrating on weddings. While helping couples plan their big day, I kept living out my fantasies of when I would be in their place. Ever since, Phillip’s nuptials were interrupted so abruptly, I’d become fixated on planning perfect weddings, even knowing there was no such thing. There were always going to be unplanned occurrences....and Humphreys. It all started when Michael’s cousin BeBe asked me to plan hers, at the last minute then she was referring her clients and their children. It had only been a few weeks since Phillip’s wedding and a whole new door had been opened for me.

  In the back of my mind, behind all the happiness, the job fulfillment, the perfect boyfriend and the comfortable apartment, I was still haunted by my brother’s reaction to discovering Madonna had not aborted their child. I was disappointed when I realized he chose not to say anything to anyone upon learning he was Pia’s father. His decision removed him from hero status in my eyes. But it was just as well that I no longer put him on a pedestal. He was a man not unlike most of the others and it took his handling of the situation for me to accept that. Before then, I spoke of Phillip with a certain reverence most people reserved for celebrities. He was my brother who was super-intelligent (Morehouse and Howard-educated); my brother who was handsome, with the popular-guy-from-the-neighborhood charm; he had a walk full of confidence and sex appeal. Wherever he went, people warmed up to him, and women found him irresistible. He’d always used that to his advantage.

  Humphrey saw the man with the fl and weaknesses. I was angry when he saw right through him to all of that, especially when I couldn’t. He had been my superhero for so long that it was hard for me to accept him as mortal man. I think Humphrey had been a close runner up, but unlike Phillip’s faults, he wanted to keep his own imperfections hidden from me.

  The newlyweds had been back from South Africa for a week and they were coming in town to show the pictures and slides from their honeymoon. My mother had called the whole family together, even Maria who had been separating herself from us and building her life around her new man, as I suspected—a counselor from the drug rehabilitation program she belonged to. But the second Saturday in August, we were having this gathering at my parents’ house to further celebrate the addition to the Browne family. I’d organized a movie night theme for the party. We had popcorn, along with all the other typical movie theatre concessions. We pulled the old movie screen out of the basement that we used for family movies in the past and set it up in the living room.

  Just like everybody else, I watched with wonder at the footage of South Africa’s beauty, the Victoria Falls and the busy marketplaces in Johannesburg; I looked at the photographs of the happy couple posing with cheerful locals, bartering in the marketplace, hanging in the nightclub, dancing and feasting. They’d purposely avoided pictures of people going through their daily drudgery, in business suits, with brief cases. They could find that in New York, they’d explained. There were pictures of them smiling with contentment as they relaxed on the broad veranda of the manor house where they were staying, where during apartheid they wouldn’t have been welcomed as guests. While I wondered who the person was behind the camera, I thought about all that awaited them as a family. I struggled with a sense of responsibility to expose the truth. But did I have a right to disturb their plans by telling what Phillip didn’t want to be told? I didn’t have a definite answer to that but I felt strongly that an answer needed to be found.

  Michael had been keeping me preoccupied with work and love, ever since I decided to give him a chance. Together, we were in the planning stages for our second annual reggae festival. With a little more experience under our belts, we were becoming experts at negotiating and that was a valuable tool to have when dealing with our West Indian vendors and entertainers, especially the entertainers. Along the way, they’d acquired some high paying gigs at the beach resorts during the summer, the White college gigs during the winter, and they would use that as leverage to force us to pay them exorbitant amounts for an hour on stage. The first year, we’d fallen for it because we didn’t know any better, but since then we’d dealt with a variety of musicians and entertainers from Florida to New York and we weren’t afraid to let some of them go. Most of them were more popular in their minds anyway and when they found we were strictly business, they went along with what was reasonable. Our theme for the second festival was going to be “Let Love Rule.” We all needed a little more love.

  This time around we were going to show our appreciation for our families, friends and lovers and host a whole weekend of lover’s rock.

  We were at the office one day, enjoying a quiet moment that followed a hectic morning, when I decided I wanted him sexually. It had been months since I’d known a tender touch and I hoped Michael could provide the loving touch I so desperately yearned for. We were around each other every day, greeting each other with proper pecks, bumping into each other, squeezing by to reach for files, fixing one another’s clothing or hair, touching or holding hands and saying goodnight with long passionate kisses; it was driving me insane. I wanted Michael in the worst way; I knew he could sense it. And there was no doubt that steam was rising from his skin from the intense desire we’d allowed to build between us. It was time we did something about it.

  It was almost like he read my mind. His stare roused me from my thoughts and when our eyes met, his lips turned up at the corners. I didn’t have to move from my seat. He came to me—pulling me into a standing position and bringing his lips to mine like we were a magnet and steel. It started so sweetly. He communicated his love through his gentle handling of me— touching my hair and caressing my face, while his lips moved over mine. It wasn’t the intense fire I’d been accustomed to, but there was great potential. To his delight, I deepened the kiss. He moaned when my tongue met his and was just going to pick me up off the floor, when we were interrupted.

  “As happy as I am to see you two together, I’m thinking about hosing you down.” It was Mr. Wes, smiling like he had a front row seat to a romantic comedy.

  Michael immediately smiled back and I was so flustered, I directed my eyes to my feet, while I tried to salvage any remnants of my lipstick.

  “Miss Zoë, don’t be shy, baby. Don’t be embarrassed. You two are making me a happy man. Anybody could see that you belong with this man here,” he announced proudly as he slapped his son on the back. “If he weren’t so damned busy trying to be a gentleman, he would have made his intentions known years ago.
Used to wear me and his mama’s ears off talkin’ about you every day. And we used to say don’t tell us, tell her.

  It was Michael’s turn to be embarrassed now. “C’mon Dad. Don’t put my business out there like that.”

  It was what he didn’t mention that made me uncomfortable. He’d brought Humphrey into the room as surely as opening the door and asking him in. What he was really saying was: ‘Anybody could see you belong with this man instead of the one you were with.’

  By then I was standing at Michael’s side and I put my arm around his waist.

  “It’s okay. I’m just slow. Besides, I wouldn’t have laughed, I probably would have choked.”

  He laughed at that himself.

  Mr. Wes fussed over us for the rest of the day, insisting on buying us lunch from his favorite seafood spot outside of the city. We wouldn’t dare refuse him. He drove his luxury sedan and I insisted Michael sit up front with him so I could stretch out on the backseat. For the whole drive, they discussed politics and how the new mayor had let a lot of his major Black supporters down. Mr. Wes was glad he had not endorsed the young White mayor. Several of his contemporaries regretted having done so because he had reneged on quite a few promises and created positions for his young White friends and schoolmates, definitely a slap in the face of those Blacks who had gone against the grain and taken a lot of flak to help put him in office. Apparently, Michael’s father thought electing a White mayor in a majority Black city was not a good idea. When we reached the restaurant, I was glad for a chance to talk about something else and the menu gave me that opportunity. The staff knew Mr. Wes by name.

  “You remember those huge crab cakes I used to bring to the office, Mike? Well, this is where they come from,” Mr. Wes commented. “Y’all order anything you want, but I’m ordering one of those. It’s been awhile.”

  We were all in agreement and with that out of the way, Mr. Wes steered the conversation back to the serious tone it held earlier, back to the political arena. It made me think he had an ulterior motive for the lunch. Michael held his own and seemed to be up to date on all the political goings-on in town, things I didn’t think he paid much attention to. Th I had to remind myself that he was brought up on it. This was probably nothing more than dinner table talk for them both. I was the only one out of place. I’d been around him and his family for so many years that it was often easy to forget their prominence in the city and their great legacy. Mr. Wes was Councilman Franklin, after all. That’s probably why I wasn’t completely taken by surprise when his father said, “Son, I’ve thrown my hat in the race for mayor.”

  “You filed back in February,” he said. “Right before the deadline.”

  Mr. Wes looked surprised. “I’d discussed it with your mother. It’s been one of my dreams for a number of years now. But I’d considered withdrawing from the race.”

  “I think you’ll make a great mayor. You are qualified.”

  “Yes, Mr. Wes, that’s some great news. Congratulations,” I added.

  “Thank you, children. It means a lot knowing I have your good wishes. I didn’t think there was any reason to wait any more. Life is too short. We all realize that now, don’t we? I only hope I can get your support.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “You mean that, Michael? Because if you do, I want you to work on my campaign. I’ve already raised a substantial amount of money and I’ve assembled a very competent team. You would make it complete.”

  I was seeing a side of Michael I had never seen before. It was total compliance with his father and everything being a Franklin stood for. He’d never shown any interest in following the long line of lawyers and politicians that made up his paternal lineage. He’d built a reputation on knowing how to draw crowds but that had been limited to small parties and later, what he referred to as grown-up indulgence gatherings. He had always been just a step away from major concert promoter. Now his father was asking him to come into the fold, into what he was born to do and it was like it awakened something in him that had lain dormant until that point.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do it. I’ll work with you, Dad,” he said.

  If his father had been happy about us becoming an item, then he was ecstatic about Michael coming to work with him.

  Our food arrived and it didn’t disappoint. The crab cakes were succulent and seasoned perfectly, so huge that the chips and coleslaw served as garnishments for the plate. Father and son continued their political dialogue and every once in a while, I was asked for a comment. The greater part of my thoughts was focused on business. I wasn’t like Michael. He could hustle up ideas and promote shows like nothing I’d ever seen, but I couldn’t see myself running F.B.I. alone. My forté was the little dinner party, the anniversary or retirement celebration and now weddings and receptions. Intimacy was my specialty. I couldn’t believe when I pulled off that festival for Trey in New York successfully, but I knew it could only be attributed to the same formula Michael and I had created for its prototype in Baltimore.

  I was awakened when we pulled up to the building, after dozing in the backseat for most of the return ride. Mr. Wes didn’t hang around. He had a campaign to oversee. Michael was the last person on board, the last member of his team. A commercial had already been fi and was scheduled to run the next week.

  “You sleepy?” he asked when we got back upstairs.

  “No, not really. Your father didn’t play any music or anything all the way to the restaurant or all the way back. You know I’ve got to have my music or a book to keep me occupied. All the talk about politics didn’t help.”

  “Sorry, Baby. But wasn’t that a trip…my father running for Mayor of Baltimore? Ain’t that some shit? He finally confirmed it. Even though I had my suspicions, I’m still blown- away by the announcement.”

  “I couldn’t tell. I’ve never seen you so soldier-like. It was like you coming into your own.”

  “No, I think you’re reading too much into that. I only want to do whatever I can to help my father, that’s all.”

  “Politics is in your blood. Your mother studied it and taught it and for his whole life, your father has lived it. And so have you, for that matter. Like I said, it’s in your blood.”

  “No. You are in my blood and it’s bubbling about right now. Remember where we were before Dad walked in and caught us? You were looking like a guilty teenager, looking down at the floor, right before that I had you in a lip-lock, remember?” He was chuckling at his own recollection.

  “C’mon, let’s leave early today,” I said.

  I did want to return to that place of abandonment and spontaneity. I didn’t tell him that his behavior at the restaurant had been a big turn-on for me. He seemed so powerful and manly, speaking with such authority. In our regular business operations, Michael handled his business well, but it was with a more relaxed attitude. When he was talking business with his father, he showed a take-charge attitude that was sexy as hell. Those were traits I associated with someone who wouldn’t stop haunting my thoughts.

  “Why? What do you have in mind?” he asked. “Follow me,” I said.

  We went straight to my place and made love for the first time on my romantic platform bed with a sultry breeze held over from August blowing the white gauze curtains aside so that it could caress our skin. Normally the humid weather was a problem for me, but on that early September evening, it reflected the heat simmering between Michael and myself. At fi it felt like something taboo…but the forbidden element made it even more exciting, as if we had to get it out of our systems before someone walked in on us. I would have preferred he handle me with more authority, but I understood his tentativeness. Before too long, he had me whimpering with pleasure so sweet I could cry. He was so gentle that when he pushed his way inside, his grind was slow, sure and thorough. He pressed into a spot that lit me up from the inside out. I didn’t even remember falling asleep.

  Dawn was peeking at us, when I finally opened my eyes and I looked over at Michael
and saw nothing but love all over him and unconditional acceptance. It was impossible not to make a comparison. With him, there was no fear of failure because he already accepted me as I was. That realization made my heart sing, as well as some other body parts when I reflected on the night before. Not only was he smart, he was funny, great in bed and he was devoted. I should have been waiting for someone to wake me up from a dream, instead I was wondering about the next sensational way he would either fill me with awe or make me go, “ahh.”

  By the time we got finished revisiting and reenacting our escapades from the night before, we only had time for a cup of coffee before he left. So much for the lazy breakfast in the sunroom. His father had already started calling his cell phone by 7a.m. and he knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore it for too long. I could see that alone time was going to become a rarity for the two of us while he was working on the campaign. The election season was upon us and I could tell his father was going to pummel him with enough orders to make up for all the times when he’d rejected the family business. The debates were coming up and he wanted to be home when he talked strategy with Mr. Wes. I understood completely. His father didn’t need to know every action we took. Fortunately, he had given me enough material for secret smiles to last me until the next time we could steal away. I couldn’t believe it, Michael was my lover.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Zoë, it’s your mother.”

  “Hi, Ma. I can’t talk to you right now. I’m half-way through a meeting, but I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.”

  There was something about the way she sighed that indicated she was in distress.