“You want the unvarnished truth?”
She sat forward, wondering at the question. Uncertain. If I say yes, he’ll tell it just like it is. And she didn’t think she could bear it if he said his interest in her was only concupiscent. But if it was only sexual, wouldn’t he have spent the night with her the last time they were together?
“What’s the matter, Pamela? Scared of the truth?”
“Just because I don’t welcome it with open arms doesn’t mean I’m scared of it.”
“What, then?”
“Drake, among the men I’ve known, you are an enigma. You want me, but you make no attempt to get what you want. I know several women who’d tell me I’m lying if I told them that.”
“Not because they would know what they’re talking about. I’ve told you that I do not play with women. I’ve been misunderstood at times when I haven’t done a thing, so I’m careful. What about the unvarnished truth? You don’t want to hear it?”
What she didn’t want was the experience of having her emotions shattered. “I…uh… Tell me another time. Okay?” The silence seemed interminable. “Are you still there?” she asked him.
“Of course I’m here. Do we have a date for lunch Thursday?”
“I’d rather call you around nine Thursday morning and let you know.”
“All right, but I’m not going to Baltimore except to see you. How about a kiss?”
She made the sound of a kiss and nearly dropped the phone when he did the same.
“See you,” he said, and hung up before she could respond.
“Keep it up,” she said, still staring at the phone, “and you’ll help me make up your mind for you.”
If he would talk with her about his dreams, his goals, he would understand that she wouldn’t do anything to hinder him.
She opened her briefcase and looked for her notes on their program plans. I can’t deal with my relationship with Drake now. I have to take a victory for WRLR with me when I leave here. A child could figure out why Jack sent me in his stead. He was afraid of failing.
During the conference, she spent almost as much time negotiating the placement of Mark Scott’s hands as she did securing a coup for WRLR. And each time she moved her seat, Scott maneuvered to a seat beside her.
“If you don’t keep your hands off me,” she told the WLTN anchorman, “I’ll demand that you do so loud enough for every person in this room to hear me. Or maybe you’d like this coffee in your face.”
His face took on a sultry expression. “A pretty girl like you wouldn’t do a thing like that,” he said as he eased his hand toward her knee.
For an answer, she picked up the cup of hot coffee and glared at him. “Just try me. I’m not a girl—I’m a woman. If you fool with me, Mr. Scott, I’ll make you case-study number one in our national report on sexual harassment of women.”
His face became ashen, and he put both hands on the table and busied himself taking notes. Laughter spilled out of her, and when he flinched, she laughed harder. Her gaze took in the gold band on the third finger of his left hand, and she stopped laughing.
“I’d hate to work with a married man who found pleasure in groping strange women. You need help,” she said, looking directly into his eyes and assuring herself that he wouldn’t bother her anymore.
She didn’t telephone Drake on Thursday morning as he’d asked, because Jack Hanson, her producer, pounced on her for a report as soon as she entered the office and spent the entire morning with her discussing the programs they would create for the network.
“You did a fine job, Langford. That gang would never have agreed to let WRLR do this if I’d gone, but they didn’t know how to get around you. Well done. I’ll see that you get a bonus.”
She stared at him. “I wouldn’t turn down a raise, Jack.”
He inclined his head to one side and stared back at her. “I imagine you wouldn’t, but you just got a raise last month. If I recommend another one now, my boss will think I’ve got something going with you. You know how tightfisted he is. Six months from now would be a better time.”
“And you’ll recommend it then?”
“You have my word on it.”
Pamela hadn’t promised to have lunch with Drake, but it distressed her that she hadn’t been free to telephone him as she’d promised. She had not dared tell Jack to excuse her while she made a personal phone call, because he considered attention to any personal matter while at work unprofessional behavior. She called Drake’s cell-phone number as soon as she was alone in her office.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me why you didn’t call me this morning,” he said, having recognized her number on his caller ID. “What happened?”
She told him and added, “As a professional yourself, you’ll appreciate my position.”
“I also appreciate it as a person of normal intelligence. You’re getting a bonus? You should have asked for a raise. That kind of success is supposed to send you up the corporate ladder.”
“I asked for one, but he reminded me that I just got a raise last month. He said I’ll get another one in six months.”
“And hold him to it.”
“Trust me. I will. I’m sorry I couldn’t make our lunch.”
“So am I. It was my only chance to be free this week. I promised my brothers we’d work out a tentative schedule for building that shopping mall in Accra. It means we have to coordinate our work on the three projects in Maryland and the one in Barbados with work in Ghana, and it won’t be easy. Also, we have to factor in Russ’s marriage and his honeymoon time, so it will take us a few days to work this out. I’ll have to go to Frederick from time to time because I’m not satisfied with my foreman and the project has advanced so far that I’d rather not change.”
“Okay. Keep your cell phone charged.”
“I will, and you do the same. I’ll be in touch.”
She did her best to hide the disappointment that she felt. “Me, too.” She needed to feel close to him, to know that he cared and cared deeply for her. She had no doubt that he wanted her, but that didn’t impress her; so did other men. Until he opened his mouth and told her he cared for her, she intended to keep on looking. She packed her briefcase, cleared her desk, locked it and headed for the elevator.
“Haven’t seen you around much lately.”
She knew before she spun around that the words came from Lawrence Parker’s mouth. No other man at WRLR talked to her while walking behind her, and she wished he’d stop it.
“Hello, Lawrence.” She didn’t ask how he was, because she didn’t care to know.
“I just heard that you’re bucking for Jack’s job.”
The elevator door opened, and she stepped inside. “You’re making that up on the spot. Remember, I’m on to you, and if you spread that rumor, I will report you. Lawrence, it would be a good and useful thing if you would grow up.”
She stepped off the elevator on the first floor to make sure Lawrence didn’t follow her to the basement, walked down the stairs to the garage, stopped and listened for footsteps. Hearing none, she started for her car.
“Ooh!” she yelled, and swung around when she heard someone running toward her.
“Why didn’t you take the elevator all the way down here? Did you think I didn’t know why you got off at the first floor?” He towered over her, his dark face blotched with the anger that made him shake. “You’re at my mercy, so you’d better be nice to me.”
She hadn’t thought she would need the whistle she always carried, and neither her nail file nor her manicure scissors was handy. She decided to find out how much trouble she faced and asked him to release her arm.
“When and if I get ready,” he said, and she wondered if he had considered that his actions would cause him to be fired from WRLR.
“You had Raynor switch me to morning news, that reporters’ graveyard, didn’t you?” She gaped at him, unsure of his move or what hers should be. “Didn’t you?” he repeated, his face a mass of hatr
ed. “You think you’re better than everybody else, don’t you? I wonder if Mr. Got-It-All will want you after I—”
She turned to her side, reared back as far as his grip on her wrist would allow and aimed her right foot for his groin, a perfect blow from her size-ten pointed-toe shoe. Thank God she’d worn a pantsuit that morning.
His exclamation was loud and fierce as he bent forward in pain, and she raced for the stairs, deeming a wait at the elevator too risky. At the first floor, she ran to the guard, told him what happened and demanded that he call the police. They arrived immediately and found Lawrence writhing in pain on the concrete floor.
“What’s this all about?” Raynor asked, having responded to the guard’s call.
No longer in danger, her teeth chattered and both of her hands shook as she tried without success to articulate to her boss Lawrence’s transgression. The two policemen brought him upstairs handcuffed and on a stretcher.
“He can’t walk,” one officer said, “and from the looks of things, it may be a while before he does. If you want to press charges, you’ll have to come down to the precinct. We’re taking him to Maryland General Hospital, and he’ll be under guard.”
“You’re out of danger now, so take a deep breath and tell me exactly what happened. Everything,” Raynor said.
She told him and added, “I’ve never seen such hatred on a person’s face. He really intended to hurt me.”
“I’ve suspected for some time that Lawrence was psychotic. In any case, his tenure at WRLR is over.”
She stared at him. Aghast. “You’re going to fire him?”
“I’d prefer that, but if I let him go, he’ll be more of a menace to you than ever. So I’m transferring him to our local station in Honolulu, and I intend to let him know that he can be grateful.”
“Thanks. I’m stunned.”
“You shouldn’t be. A man who pretends to be conservative yet buys himself a yellow Cadillac bears watching.”
“I suppose you’re ri…” Something clicked in her head. “What did you say? Lawrence drives a yellow Cadillac?”
“Why, yes. Why?”
She shook her head from side to side. “Well, I’ll be doggoned.”
She didn’t tell Raynor that Lawrence had slashed her front tires to prevent her from keeping a dinner date. Why hadn’t she guessed the identity of the culprit? Men in Lawrence’s position didn’t tag along hangdog fashion behind a woman, pestering her with unwanted attention.
However, as much as Lawrence annoyed her, she didn’t wish him harm, and she hoped he would receive the treatment that he needed. Still, she couldn’t help being grateful to Raynor for sending Lawrence as far away from her as his resources would allow. She went back to the garage for her car, and as she passed the yellow Cadillac, she battled a sense of unease. What if Lawrence refused the transfer and resigned?
At home that evening, she dallied around her apartment, unable to focus on any one thing. Finally, at about nine o’clock, she capitulated to her feelings and her need and telephoned Drake.
“Excuse me,” Drake said to his brothers, interrupting their conference on the feasibility of undertaking a project in Ghana thousands of miles away on the west coast of Africa. He left the den and went into the hallway to answer his cell phone, aware that Pamela was the caller.
“How are you, Pamela?” he said, battling the something inside of him that wanted to address her differently. More intimately.
“I’m here,” she said, “and grateful for it.”
He bounded up the stairs. “Wait a minute until I get into my room.” Inside, he closed the door and settled himself in his desk chair. “Is everything all right with you now?”
“Mostly.”
He jerked forward. “Where are you, and what’s the matter?”
“I’m home.”
He listened to her incredible story about a man he had known since his college days whom he had regarded as a normal person. “How badly did you hurt him?”
“I don’t know, but when I called the hospital a while ago, a policeman said he was in shock, still unable to walk and under police guard.”
Drake felt no sympathy for the man and didn’t try to muster any. Psychotic or not, he was a criminal and could have ruined Pamela’s life if, indeed, he hadn’t taken it. “So he’s the person who slashed your tires. The man must be sick. I imagine you’re feeling pretty shaky.”
“I am, but it will pass. Well. I just wanted to touch base.”
He listened for what she didn’t say and heard her doing what they so often did when talking with each other, shadowboxing around the truth, afraid to reveal their feelings. She, waiting for him to lead the way and he, equivocating about the course he would take. She had called him because she hurt, although she wasn’t going to admit it. And he had to let her know that he was there for her.
“When you called, I was in the den with Telford and Russ and we were deciding on our work program for the next three years, and that’s important for our company’s growth. But if you need me, I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Thank you.” He thought he heard relief in her voice. “Of course, I want to be with you, but I guess what I really needed was to know that you’re there for me. You haven’t said or done anything to suggest to me that you ought to be, but I needed it all the same. Go back to work. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m positive. Good night.”
He told her good-night, covered his face with his hands and lowered his head. We’re a pair of the worst hypocrites, he thought. I wonder what would happen if we leveled with each other. He treaded down the stairs, moving slowly, his mind filled with images of Pamela writhing beneath him in ecstasy.
“You boys going to be in there all night?” Henry asked Drake as he approached the den. “Once a year, I want to watch television, and you pick that time to sit around talking.”
He laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder, frail and bony to the touch, though he was only fifty-eight years old. “Henry, each one of us has tried to buy you a television set, and to each one of us you said you didn’t like watching TV. Now you’re complaining.”
“I don’t like sitting alone staring at a bunch of nuts jumping around in front of a camera doing foolish things, but Willie Nelson’s gonna be on in a few minutes, and Buddy Guy is his guest. My two favorites.”
“All right. We can talk someplace else.” He walked into the den. “Henry wants to watch Buddy Guy and Willie Nelson. Let’s go into the living room.”
“Better still,” Telford said, “let’s quit for the night.” He looked at Henry. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Henry sat down, as comfortable in Harrington House as in his own cottage that Telford and his brothers built for him about fifty yards beyond the south side of their own home, a modern home that they deeded to him so that he could call it his own.
“Be comfortable,” Henry repeated after Telford. “That’s just what I was planning to do. Any cold tonic water in that little refrigerator over there?” He pointed to the bar.
A grin spread over Russ’s face as he sauntered over to the bar for a glass, poured Henry a drink of cold tonic water and took it to him. “You’re a piece of work, Henry, but I wouldn’t exchange you for your weight in gold bullion.”
“Glad to know that,” Henry retorted, took a sip of tonic water and added, “I’d ask even more than that for you.”
The four men laughed in a moment of shared love and camaraderie.
This is almost the best of all possible worlds, Drake thought. Almost.
The next morning, he left early for Frederick, changed clothes in the trailer at the Harrington-Sparkman Memorial Houses site and called the plasterers together for instructions. That done, he began checking the first-floor window sashes.
“A little boy out there to see you, Drake,” one of the workers told him.
He left the construction area and glanced up and down the street until he saw Pete standing b
eside a car almost in front of him.
“Hello, Pete. Why aren’t you in school?” He didn’t much like to greet people with “hi” unless he was on intimate terms with them, and rarely used it even with the members of his family.
Pete seemed unsure of himself, so Drake hunkered in front of him in an effort to ease the boy’s discomfort. “My mom had to take my baby brother to the clinic this morning, so I had to stay with my sisters. I’m going to school as soon as she gets back. She’ll write me an excuse.”
It hadn’t occurred to him that children as young as Pete had to assume adult roles, though he supposed he’d seen evidence of it many times and the fact simply hadn’t registered.
“How’s your math? Did you complete those tests in your exercise book?”
“Yes, sir, and I got an A. Mr. Harrington, do you think I could work for you sometime? Maybe after school today? I won’t charge much.”
Drake stood and looked down at the child, whose face bore an expression that was at once plaintive and hopeful. “You and I are going to talk. What did you eat for dinner last night?”
The boy hung his head. “I’m not hungry, sir.”
He placed his right hand gently on Pete’s thin shoulder. “Do you think anybody else in your family might be hungry?”
Pete didn’t look at him, so he had his answer. He had learned that the boy preferred not to lie. “Maybe, sir.”
Just as he had thought. “You run along home, because you’re supposed to be looking after your sisters. I’ll be around there in half an hour.” He called Jack, his foreman, on his cell phone. “I’ll be off the site for about an hour.”
He felt in his back pocket for his billfold, counted the bills he found there, got into the Harrington van and drove to the supermarket. On an impulse, he paid for his purchases with a credit card, for he suspected he’d need the cash, and arrived at the Jergenses’ home simultaneously with Stella Jergens. Ignoring both her surprise and her expression of indebtedness, he followed her to the kitchen where they unpacked his purchases. He gave her all the money he had except forty dollars. He would have given her that, but he was a good distance from home and needed a cushion in case of an emergency.
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