Love Me or Leave Me

by Gwynne Forster

  “Good. I’ll send my driver for you.”

  At the end of their conversation the following morning, Drake agreed to discuss the matter with his brothers, for he didn’t work alone, but as a part of the Harrington, Inc. team. He hoped they could make a deal, because he wanted to get back to Ghana and see the country, including the old forts and castles associated with the slave trade.

  As the Boeing 737 roared away from Kotoka International Airport, Drake glanced at the aisle seat across from his and nearly spilled the rum punch on his trousers. There sat Selicia Dennis, the bridesmaid who had attempted to hook her long pink-and-green talons into him. He liked assertive women, but the kind of aggression she displayed irritated him. He decided to behave as if he didn’t know she was there. And she wasn’t there by accident, he knew. In that circle, getting information about his departure and seat number was a simple matter. With the right influence, you got whatever you wanted.

  He decided to focus on his seatmate, a man who bore the trappings of a gentleman, and introduced himself. “I’m Drake Harrington. Are you traveling all the way to the States?”

  The man extended his hand. “Straight from London to San Antonio. I’m Magnus Cooper.”

  They spoke at length, and Drake learned that the man was a Texas rancher, as well as a builder.

  “How’s that?” he asked, when Magnus told him that he’d be in Baltimore at an undecided date to tape a program for his cousin’s TV news show. “People don’t seem to know that ranchers come in colors,” he added. “In Texas, you’ll find a number of hyphenated American ranchers—Spanish, Italian, black, Scottish, you name it.”

  Drake mulled that over for a second before laughter rippled out of him. “I’m in Baltimore frequently. Who’s your cousin?”

  “Pamela Langford. Her mother and my father are sister and brother. You know her?”

  “I sure do.” He let it go at that and didn’t budge, not even when both of Magnus’s eyebrows went up and stayed there.

  They spoke amiably until the plane landed at London’s Heathrow Airport. They exchanged contact information and agreed to talk soon. Drake was transferring to Delta and headed for his flight’s gate, but to his chagrin, when he arrived, Selicia Dennis stood to greet him. Having no acceptable choice, he took a seat and wished for something to read other than the International Herald Tribune that he carried in his briefcase.

  “I live in Washington, D.C.,” she began. “How far are you from there?”

  He told her he didn’t know, and she asked what state he lived in.

  He folded the paper, put it back in his briefcase and faced her. “Miss Dennis, I don’t see the point in this. I don’t want to be rude, but you and I have absolutely no basis for a friendship of any kind, so let’s stop with the small talk. It’s a waste of breath.” He folded his arms, closed his eyes and managed to give the impression of someone asleep. He heard the call of a flight to Washington, and immediately she gathered her things and left. He walked a few paces down the corridor, bought a bag of fish-and-chips and a bottle of lemonade, went back to his seat and relaxed. Beautiful, sure of it and shallow. The kind of woman he avoided.

  Maybe he didn’t sufficiently appreciate Pamela. Not once had he been bored in her company. He could talk with her for hours and not know how much time had passed. If she would only accept his need to grow a little more. If she’d wait until he reached his goals… He stared at the bag of soggy chips for a second before throwing them into the refuse bin. And what if she wouldn’t wait, but found another guy? A woman who looked like her could have just about any man she wanted, and with her charm, gentle manners and…well, intelligence and competence, she was choice. And sexy. He’d never known another woman who got next to him as she did.

  He ran his fingers through his silky hair. So where the hell was she when she was supposed to be having dinner with me?

  “Flight 803 to Baltimore now boarding first-class passengers and passengers with small children or who need assistance.” He heard the announcement, got up, went through security a third time and took his seat in the first-class section. He had six hours to think about what he wanted for himself and Pamela…provided she wanted anything from him at all.

  Six hours and twelve minutes later, he walked into the Baltimore/Washington International Airport terminal, looked around and saw Russ walking toward him. As usual, after any of the brothers returned from a trip, they embraced each other. “That sun must really be something,” Russ said. “You were there less than three days, and you look as if you stuck your face in an inkwell. I saw Pamela in the market this morning.”

  Drake stopped walking, a habit that annoyed Russ, but so what. “Did you speak with her?”

  “Yeah. She asked me about Velma, but that’s all. She was as beautiful as ever, but downcast. I didn’t see any of that easy charm that I associate with her.”

  He tried to hide his response to that kick in his gut, but he wasn’t sure he managed it, for Russ asked in his usually candid manner, “Something gone wrong with you two?”

  “Let’s just say we’re not in touch right now.”

  “Her choice or yours?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Russ raised an eyebrow. “If it was her choice, she made it because you weren’t behaving the way she wanted you to. She was not a happy woman this morning.”

  His heartbeat accelerated, and he had to breathe through his mouth. He didn’t want her to be unhappy; at least, he didn’t think so. But for what other reason was he experiencing such relief, almost a sense of glee? He threw his bag into the trunk of Russ’s Mercedes and got into the car beside his brother.

  “When did you realize you loved Velma enough to marry her?”

  Russ was in the process of starting the car and suddenly stripped the gears. “What? Oh. A long time before I admitted it to anybody, including Velma. Something happens, and suddenly you know. You just know it’s right.” He moved the car into the traffic. “Is that what you’re going through?”

  “I don’t know. I was planning to tell her we shouldn’t see each other for a while, but while I was in Accra, I couldn’t for the life of me remember why I felt that way.”

  Laughter rumbled in Russ’s throat. “Seems to me I’ve heard that song before. Don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for. Women hurt easily.”

  “Yeah, and they’re not the only ones.”

  Chapter 2

  Pamela finished whipping a hem in her evening dress, slipped it on and examined herself in the mirror that covered the inside of a closet door. Burnt orange was her best color, and she wore it often. “I look great,” she said, and pulled air through her front teeth. “But what for? I don’t give a hoot about anybody who’s going to be at that reception.” Given the choice, she would have stayed at home. However, she didn’t have that option where a reception given by her boss was concerned, so she put on her mink coat, got the black satin evening bag that matched her shoes and went down to the apartment-building lobby.

  “Could you call a taxi for me, please, Mike?”

  “My pleasure, Miss Langford. I hope you’re meeting a fine young man. In my day, a lady such as yourself wouldn’t be alone for long.” He switched on the call light. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Langford, I was hoping to see more of that gentleman—Harrington is his name, I believe he said. I’ve lived a long time, and I know a man when I see one. He’s just what I’d want for my daughter if I had been fortunate enough to have one.”

  The taxi arrived, and she thanked Mike, her favorite among the doormen who worked at her building. The short, fifteen-minute ride took her to the Sheraton and as she paid the driver, he turned, looked at her and said, “Some guy sure is lucky.”

  “If you only knew,” she said as she stepped out, careful not to get her shoe heel caught in the hem of her dress.

  “What? What did you say?”

  She walked on without answering, and to her disgust, Lawrence met her at the door of the reception room. She
knew at once that he’d waited there to give the impression that she was his date. Without a word, she swung around and went to the other entrance, which meant she would skip the receiving line, but she didn’t care. Immediately, she spotted Jack Hanson, her boss, and his wife and walked over to where they stood. Within less than a minute, Lawrence was at her side.

  Seething, she knocked his hand away from her elbow. “Lawrence, I skipped the receiving line in order to avoid you, and I would appreciate it if you would stay away from me. If you don’t, I’ll make a scene.”

  “Lovers’ spat,” he said to the couple.

  “How dare you! You have never had your hands on me, and you know it. Furthermore, you never will. Not even if you were the only man on this earth.” She looked at her boss. “I’m sorry if this has spoiled your evening, but it’s what I have to tolerate in the office every day. Please excuse me.” She went to speak to her host, left the reception and went home.

  As she entered her apartment, the telephone rang. “Hello.”

  “Hi, this is Rhoda. I saw you leaving the reception as I was arriving. Are you all right?”

  “My health is fine, but Lawrence tried to give the impression that we’re an item—even told Hanson and his wife that we were having a lovers’ spat. I’ve been in a rage ever since.”

  “The pig! You didn’t let him get away with it, did you?”

  “Of course not, but I was too mad to be sociable, so I left. You have a good time.”

  “Thanks. So far, I’m bored to death.”

  She undressed, crawled into bed and attempted to banish the images that frolicked around in her head. Images of her with Drake on a small, fast boat in the Monocacy River near Frederick, the way he loved the speed, his face alive with childlike joy. Images of Drake with her on the previous Christmas morning in Eagle Park as they stood just outside the front door of Harrington House looking at six feet of pristine snow. He had squeezed her hand, kissed the tip of her nose and told her how much he loved snow.

  “Surely the Lord wouldn’t dangle that man in front of me just to tease me,” she said aloud. When sleep finally came, she had been exhausted for a long time.

  The following evening, Wednesday, the day after his return from Ghana, Drake met Lawrence—a former school-mate—at an alumni meeting in Baltimore. As usual, Drake greeted him cordially.

  “How’s it going, man?” Drake asked.

  “Couldn’t be better. I’m seeing Pamela Langford these days. Man, she stood up a dinner date in order to see a movie with me. We’re getting pretty tight.”

  He hoped the sharp pain in his chest didn’t signal the onset of a heart attack. However, he put a half smile of casual interest on his face and said, “Really. When was that?”

  “Last Friday night. We’re together, man.”

  He let the smile freeze on his face, patted Lawrence on the back and said, “Way to go, man.”

  He had no reason to disbelieve him. After all, she hadn’t bothered to tell him that she couldn’t make their date or to use her cell phone to let him know she had a last-minute emergency. He shook his head from side to side, acknowledging that it strained his credulity to believe she would callously leave him sitting in a restaurant waiting for her for almost two hours. It was unlike her. He left the meeting, went to Russ’s apartment—where he would spend the night—and turned on the local evening news.

  “Good evening. I’m Pamela Langford, and this is WRLR Evening News.”

  That bottom lip of hers always tantalized him, and on that night, it seemed more luscious than ever. He caught himself as his tongue rimmed his lips, and he slid farther down in the big, overstuffed chair in Russ’s living room. Lord, but this woman is beautiful. He wondered if she’d be stupid enough to develop an affair with a coworker, and when Russ came home, he told him what Lawrence said.

  “I guess I don’t know her,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought she’d do a thing like that.”

  Russ dropped himself on the sofa. “Maybe she didn’t. Why would he tell you that? Sounds suspicious to me, and if you weren’t annoyed with her, you’d find that story suspect. Anyhow, every suspect deserves a hearing before he’s sentenced. You ought to ask her what happened that evening. As unhappy as she was when I saw her, I wouldn’t think she’d just begun a relationship with a man. That would make a person sparkle, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I should think it would. If I find out that Lawrence lied about Pamela, I’ll— Oh, hell! I’ll call her.”

  Pamela packed her briefcase, knowing that she wasn’t in a mood to work after she got home, but what else was there to do? With her three-quarter-length leather coat on her arm, she headed for the elevator, and as she reached it, saw Lawrence approaching her.

  “Lawrence, if you say one word to me or touch me, I will get an order of restraint against you for harassment. What you did last night was unconscionable. No decent man would have done what you did. Now, please move aside.”

  “Look, I was just—”

  “You are harassing me.”

  She stepped into the elevator, pushed the button and prayed that he wouldn’t trail her to the basement garage where she’d left her car. Relieved that he didn’t follow her, she put on an Aretha Franklin CD and sang along with the diva as she drove, her spirits livelier than at any time since she’d missed her date with Drake.

  At home, she warmed up the remainder of the previous evening’s lasagna, made a salad and sat down to eat her supper. The telephone rang as she chewed the last morsel of it, and she debated whether to answer it, thinking that Lawrence might call her at home. However, the identity of the caller aroused her curiosity and she answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Pamela. This is Drake.”

  At the sound of his deep, mellifluous voice, her left hand slammed against her chest as if to decelerate the beating of her heart, and she let the wall take her weight.

  “Hello, Drake,” she said, as coolly as if her head wasn’t spinning and her heart was beating normally. It was his call, and she wasn’t going to make small talk. She waited for him to tell her why he’d called.

  “I’m not satisfied with the way things are right now,” he said. “I’m in Baltimore, and I’d like us to have lunch tomorrow, if you can make the time. I’m going home to Eagle Park later in the afternoon.”

  Hmm. Cut-and-dried, as usual. She didn’t believe in being coy, and besides, she wanted to know why he hadn’t returned her calls to his home and to his cellular phone.

  “All right. Can we lunch at about twelve-thirty, and would you come by my office for me?”

  “Uh… Sure. Be glad to. I’ll see you at twelve-thirty.” She wondered at his seeming hesitation.

  “I’ll be ready. My office is on the ninth floor. See you then.”

  Again, he seemed to hesitate. “Right. Till tomorrow.”

  For a while, she stared at the receiver that she still gripped tightly. Then, like a robot performing a programmed task, she hung up in slow motion. If she had ever had a more unsatisfying conversation with a man, she didn’t remember it. Oh, well. By this time tomorrow, I will know where I stand with Drake Harrington.

  She dressed carefully that morning, choosing a burnt-orange woolen suit with a beige blouse and brown accessories. She rarely wore makeup at work, but she did so that morning, settling for lipstick the color of her suit, and though she longed to wear her hair down, she put it into the French twist that she wore at work and on the air. Along with her makeup-repair bag, she put a vial of Poem, her daytime perfume, in her briefcase, said a prayer for the day and headed for work.

  She tried to prepare herself for the moment when she would see him. He’s not the be-all and end-all, and if he fades out of my life, someone else will move in, she told herself. However, when her secretary announced him and she heard his light tap on her door, she swung around, hitting her knee on the edge of her desk and sending pain shooting through it.

  “Come in,” she managed to say.
/>   “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  They stared at each other until he laughed—whether from nervousness or embarrassment, she couldn’t tell. He had always been most handsome when he laughed, and she sat there, mesmerized and as still as a catatonic.

  “We’re behaving like strangers,” he said, walked over to her, bent down and brushed his lips across hers. Her lips parted involuntarily, and he straightened up and stared down at her, his face devoid of expression.

  “I guess we’d better go,” he said at last. “Where’s your coat?”

  “I’ll get it. Are we driving or walking?”

  “I thought we’d walk to Lou’s Ristorante. The weather’s reasonably mild. Okay with you?”

  “Fine. I like Lou’s.”

  Her door swung open. “Don’t get uptight. This is about… Oh!”

  “What is it, Lawrence?”

  “Uh…nothing. I can…er…come back later.”

  “Excuse me, man,” Drake said. “I don’t want to interfere with your romance. I can come back later.”

  She whirled around and glared at Drake. “You don’t want to what? Where the devil did you get that idea? There’s not a damned thing between this man and me, and if he doesn’t stop harassing me and lying about me, I am going to have him arrested.”

  Lawrence backed toward the door. “I’ll…uh, see you later.”

  “Not so fast, buddy,” Drake said in a tone that would have halted the toughest street habitué. “Did you lie to me? You told me that you have a relationship going with Pamela, and that she stood up her dinner date in order to go to a movie with you. How did you know she was meeting me for dinner?”

  Her lower lip dropped, but she quickly restored her aplomb. “Give me one reason, Lawrence, why I shouldn’t indict you for lying about me. This isn’t the only time you’ve done it.”

  “Look,” he said, hands up and palms out, “you can’t blame a guy for trying.”