She could still hear his voice. “I need to kiss you.” And she had raised her head from his shoulder and parted her lips for the thrust of his kiss. She hadn’t known that a man could find so many ways to cherish a woman, yet he’d promised her much more than he gave. And she knew he was a man who delivered what he promised. The telephone rang interrupting her thoughts.
“Tyra Cunningham speaking. What’s the problem, Jonathan? Your girlfriend’s father has forbidden you to come to see his daughter?”
“He says he’ll have me thrown into juvenile detention. If he does that, I won’t be able to finish high school with my class, and I’ll have a record. All I’m asking is for an opportunity to look after her. I’ve been giving her a part of my allowance. Now, I don’t know how I’ll get that to her.”
“Has she been to social services?”
“He wouldn’t let her to do that, and she’s scared of him.”
“You wouldn’t expect him to approve of his sixteen-year-old daughter having sex, would you?”
“No, ma’am. But if we hadn’t had to sneak around to see each other, we’d probably have been more careful.”
“You’re not going to juvenile detention, so don’t worry about it. Get a post office box, and give her one of the keys to it. That way, you two can communicate, and you can contact her through the mail. I would advise you not to go against his wishes.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll ask my dad to do it today. He’s fed up with Mr. Tate.”
She hung up and looked through her messages, hoping there was one from Byron, although she knew that he normally didn’t call her at the office. She saw one from Lyle, her supervisor, and called him.
“Can you see Ms. Saunders today, preferably this morning?” he asked her. “She’ll fall apart if she doesn’t get to see a counselor.”
“Okay, but I’d rather it be my last appointment.”
“Fine. She’ll be satisfied as long as she gets to see someone today.”
Tyra prepped herself for what she expected would be a trying experience with Erica Saunders. A few minutes before her appointment, she went to the coffee room for a bagel and a fortifying cup of coffee and encountered Matt Cowan there.
Matt poured a cup of coffee for her. “How’s it going, Tyra? Any more problems with Fuller?”
“He hasn’t learned to keep his hands to himself, but I corrected him. If he needs further instructions as to where his hands belong, I’ll let the legal system educate him.”
“Something’s wrong with that guy. He’s the last person who should be working in a place like this. I imagine he’s been fired from more than one job. He’s capable of nastiness, so be careful, Tyra, and watch your back.”
“Thanks, Matt. I’ll try to. See you later. I have a three forty-five appointment.”
Minutes after she sat down, Erica Saunders walked into her office. “You Miss Cunningham?”
Tyra stood. “Yes. Have a seat. How may I help you?”
Erica Saunders gazed around, taking in everything before she sat on the edge of the chair. “I never heard of anybody black being named Cunningham. Where you from?”
“We have half an hour, Ms. Saunders. Why do you need to see a counselor so urgently?”
“If you gon’ be my counselor, you gon’ have to be patient, ’cause nobody rushes me, and nobody bullies me. You got a file on me big as from here to New York, so you know what my problem is.”
“Ms. Saunders, I was given your case because no one else is prepared to take it. You have a reputation for being uncooperative. If I can help you right now, tell me what the problem is. Otherwise, don’t come here and waste my time.” She looked at her watch. “You’re the one with the problem. Not me.”
“That’s why I always like men for counselors,” Erica said under her breath. “My husband closed his checking accounts, so I can’t get any money, and I’m broke.”
“Then the best thing for you to do is agree to reasonable divorce terms. You’ll have some money then. Why don’t you find a job?”
“You’re supposed to be helping me, not him.”
Tyra leaned back in her chair and glared at the woman. “In the twenty years of your marriage, you didn’t work one day. You had an elegant home and a housekeeper. You and your husband have no children. According to these files—” she tapped the thick manila folder with her finger “—you have access to your husband’s checkbook. Am I right?”
“I did have, but I just told you he closed the checking account, and I’m flat broke.”
“I’m giving you a voucher to take to this agency—” Tyra handed her a card “—where you can get food and shelter. This is all I can do for you.”
The woman stared at her. “You sending me to beg for food and a place to stay? My husband’s rich.”
“And so were you until you got caught sleeping with other men. You made your choice, Ms. Saunders. I’m closing your file. Good day.” She hadn’t expected Erica Saunders to give in so easily, but after two years and five months it was time to drop her case.
After Erica Saunders left, Tyra phoned Lyle. “Lyle, this is Tyra. I’ve closed the Saunders file.”
“Good! I’ve thought that for some time, but I just couldn’t make myself do it.”
“I’m leaving now. See you tomorrow.”
Matt Cowan walked out of the building along with Tyra. As they stepped through the door, he removed his jacket. “This heat’s not for me. Say, Tyra, did I see you in Gambrill at the concert with Byron Whitley last Friday night?”
She couldn’t have been more surprised by his question. But why should she have been? They were both lawyers. “Yes. You know him?”
“Only professionally, but I gather he’s a helluva lawyer. Way to go,” he said, giving her the thumbs-up sign. “See you Wednesday.” She hailed a taxi, sank into its air-conditioned comfort and headed home. She would have been happier if Byron had been waiting for her.
Byron was speaking by cell phone with his father. “…then arrange something. Invite me to dinner or something.”
“You don’t need a special invitation to have dinner at my house. You can come any time you please.”
“Come on, Dad. I know that, but I want you to ask Jewel to prepare one of her special dinners, and I want to bring a friend.”
“Humph. Why didn’t you say so? Who is she? That’s strange. Andy hasn’t mentioned anyone to me.”
“Andy hasn’t met her. I don’t introduce my women friends to Andy, because I don’t want him to get the wrong impression. If I settle on one for sure, he’ll meet her.”
“There’s some logic to that, but his reaction to her should help you make up your mind about her. Kids are very perceptive.”
“So they say, Dad. But not yet. I’ve met her family, and she should meet you, since I can’t take her to Florence, Italy, to meet Nannette. What do you say?”
“If you took her to Italy I imagine your sister would greet her with open loving arms. What’s your girl’s name?”
“Tyra. Tyra Cunningham. I like her a lot, Dad.”
“I’m sure you do. Lois was the last woman you brought home. Are you over her yet?”
“Yeah, I am. I don’t dream of her any more, and I don’t have that feeling of guilt that if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, she’d still be alive.”
“And you wouldn’t have Andy. Don’t think such thoughts. You can’t alter the divine plan. Come over Friday night and bring her with you. I’ll see if I can find a date.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m in your debt.”
“No such thing. You’re my son, and it’s to my advantage to check out a prospective daughter-in-law.”
“Hey, wait a minute. I haven’t gotten that far.”
“I stand my by statement. See you Friday at seven.”
“Yes, sir.”
Byron hung up and leaned back in his desk chair thinking about what he’d just done. It hadn’t been an impulsive act. He did nothing on impulse. He trusted his own judgment, so
any uncertainty about Tyra wasn’t the reason he wanted his father to meet her. He packed his briefcase, locked his desk and took the elevator to the basement of the building that housed the Whitley, Chambers and Jones lawfirm. He shed his jacket, laid it on the back seat, got in his car and headed home.
When he stopped for a red light, he was soon in another world. He imagined he held Tyra in his arms. She was always so soft and sweet, so giving. How could a woman be all the things that she was, feminine, sweet, sexy, smart, competent, knowledgeable and fun? He hated being away from her. His dad would like her. He was sure of that. She was… The sound of other motorist’s horns brought him thoughts back to his surroundings as he saw that the light had turned green. He realized that he’d wanted to show her off to his dad and that the dinner at his father’s home was a ruse enabling him to do that without making a grand gesture. He expected that he’d have a hard time waiting for Friday.
At home, he listened while Andy read a story. Pride suffused him when the child finished reading the book, looked up at him and said, “Daddy, do I make you proud? My teacher said I must make you proud.”
“Yes, I’m proud of you.” He battled the lump in his throat and held his son tightly in his arms. His love for the boy overwhelmed him and his eyes filled with tears. Thank God, he no longer counted the cost.
“Something in your eyes, Dad? Want me to get you a tissue?”
“Thanks, but my handkerchief will do the trick. What do you want me to play?”
Andy clapped his hand. “Oh, goody. I thought you forgot. Play ‘Barcarolle’. No. Play ‘Take Five.’”
He frowned. “You didn’t give it much thought. They are as different as two pieces of music can be.”
“I know, but I heard ‘Take Five’ on the radio this afternoon, and I want to hear it again. You can play ‘Barcarolle’ tomorrow.”
He sat down at the Steinway grand, gave his fingers a practice run over the keys and launched into “Take Five,” Paul Desmond’s great jazz composition. He could hardly believe that the child tapped his knee in perfect timing with one of the most difficult jazz pieces. He wanted to teach his son to play the piano, but he hadn’t found a teacher he trusted.
It was 8:45 p.m. when he finally phoned Tyra. “Hi, sweetheart. I hope you had a good day.”
“I made some progress with my cases, and that was good. What about you?”
“Not particularly eventful. We’re wrapping up a suit that’s been dragging along for months. Today, I said, ‘Enough! We’re going to trial.’ Neither side wants that, so we’ll have a settlement sometime this week. That’s a relief.
“Tyra, my dad has invited us to his home for dinner Friday. Can you make it?”
“Your…your father? Well, sure. Of course I can make it. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at six-fifteen? Is that all right?”
“Uh…sure. Look, Byron. This is such a surprise. Are your father and I going to get along? I mean, is he going to like me?”
He couldn’t help laughing. “Sweetheart, how’s he not going to like you?”
“I don’t know, Byron, Besides, what’ll I wear? What does your father do away from his job? I mean what does he do when he’s not in his office or in the hospital?”
“He’s in surgery three mornings a week and has office hours from eleven to five Monday through Friday. At other times, he fishes and plays the piano. He’s seventy-two and still good looking.”
“I’ll bet he is if you look just like him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I’m sure he is.”
“Chicken! You didn’t have the guts to repeat it.”
“Lack of guts has on occasion stood me in good stead.”
“For instance?”
“Like when I was mad enough with one of my coworkers to take his ears off, but didn’t have the guts to do it.”
“That’s not lack of guts. That’s using common sense. He probably wasn’t worth it. I’d go to the wall for you, sweetheart, but I stop at going to jail.”
“Thanks for letting me know that your affection has its limits.”
“Doesn’t yours?”
She didn’t want that kind of teasing to evolve into a serious conversation, so she said, “I’m still having conversations with myself about that.”
“You mean about me, don’t you?”
“Talking to myself about you would be a waste of time, Byron.”
“I don’t know how to take that. Look, I just heard a thump. Andy may have rolled out of bed. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Call me back if he’s hurt. Kisses.”
“Kisses.”
Tyra went into the family room where she knew she’d find Maggie watching television and sat beside her on the sofa. Maggie turned off the television and looked at Tyra.
“What’s the matter, hon? Anything wrong?”
Tyra remembered the times when she’d gone to Maggie with her problems, and the woman, always welcoming and kind, would ask, “What’s the matter, hon?” She put an arm around Maggie’s shoulder. “I wonder what I’d do without you?”
“You’d do just fine. Is it Byron?”
She nodded. “He wants me to go to his father’s home with him Friday night for dinner. I can’t believe he wants me to meet his father. We haven’t…I mean we just met two months ago. What if his father doesn’t like me?”
“Don’t make jokes. Whether he likes you is up to you. Every father wants his son to have a beautiful woman in his life. If she is a good match for his son in other ways, like intelligence and education, so much the better. But he’ll look at you for the kind of woman who’ll make his son want to stay home and curl up with her in front of a fire on a cold winter evening.”
“Byron said his dad would like me. I have no idea what to wear. If I was going to a restaurant, there’d be no problem. But to dinner in a private home when I don’t know the people, that’s presents a problem.”
“Wear something that Byron likes, something soft, feminine and dressy. Doesn’t he like that melon-colored silk chiffon?”
“Oh, that’s a good idea. It’s figure flattering, but it doesn’t show too much cleavage.”
“That’s what you want. Let the old man see that his boy is getting something nice.”
“Maggie! Shame on you!”
“No point in sugarcoating it. That’s what it’s all about. Byron wants his dad to meet you ’cause he’s getting in deep, if he ain’t already there. And he wouldn’t mind knowing what his dad thinks of you.”
“He has a four-year-old son from his marriage—you know he’s a widower, don’t you—and I haven’t met his son yet. He’s more important to our relationship than Byron’s father.”
“Nobody asks a four-year-old to pass judgment on an adult, although some of them are pretty good at it. When you meet his son, you’ll know that he is committed to you. Now quit worrying about it. By the way, what about Byron’s mother?”
“She’s not in the picture. When Byron was seven, his father divorced her because she had an affair with another man. She lives with him now, or at least did, and has made no effort to contact Byron or his sister, who lives in Italy.”
“He got a stepmother?”
“No. His father raised the two children on his own, and it’s something that I gather Byron is very proud of.”
“And well he should be. If I were you, I’d wear my hair down Friday. Men like that.” She got up, braced her back with both hands and straightened up fully. “Don’t worry about Byron’s father. Just be yourself, and he’ll love you. I’m going to bed. Good night.”
“Good night, and thanks for listening.” She turned the lights out in the rooms downstairs, left a light in the foyer, and climbed the stairs. What did she mean to him?
“You said you didn’t hurt yourself and that you don’t have any pain anywhere. So why are you crying, Andy?” He’d asked the question at least ten times, but the boy’s response invariably was to sob even louder
. He decided to try a different tactic. “I’m going to bed. If you don’t tell me before I leave this room, you get no cherry-vanilla ice cream for one month, and you won’t be able to con Aunt Jonie into giving you some, because there won’t be any in this house. Now, what will it be?”
Andy sniffled several times and wouldn’t hold up his head. “I…uh didn’t want you to know I rolled off the bed.”
“Why, for goodness’ sake. I’m your father, and it’s my duty to take care of you.”
“But I’m four years old, and I’m not supposed to fall out of bed. I don’t want to have to sleep in a crib. That’s for babies.”
He didn’t want to laugh, because Andy’s distress was real. “I hope you’re joking, Andy. I wouldn’t make you sleep in a crib. You’re too big for that. And I certainly wouldn’t punish you for falling out of bed. Why would you think that?”
“In the story I read this afternoon, Bubble fell out of bed, and his nanny was ashamed of him and sent him to sleep in his crib.”
“That was Bubble’s nanny in a story. I’m your father. How did you fall out?” Andy’s arms tightened around Byron’s neck. “I was playing soccer. I mean I dreamed I was playing soccer, and when I kicked at the ball, I think that’s when I fell out.”
“All right. Give me a kiss, and go back to sleep.”
“Can I have cherry-vanilla ice cream tomorrow?”
“Yes, you may.” He tucked the covers around the child, adjusted the air conditioner and kissed Andy’s forehead. “Good night, son.”
“Good night, Daddy.”
He went to his room and sat in the dark for a minute and then got up and opened the blinds. The moonlight reminded him of the carriage ride with Tyra. He’d soaked up her sweetness like a sponge, and he doubted that he would ever get enough of her. Whenever he was with her, the world seemed so right. Whether she hugged him, kissed him or argued with him made no difference. She was there with him, a boundless joy.
It wouldn’t surprise him if Andy acted out with Tyra. The boy was not accustomed to sharing his father with anyone. Aunt Jonie kept a little distance between herself and Andy, for she didn’t want to assume a mother role with her nephew. He’d handle it when he got to it, and he knew he could count on Tyra to use good judgment in dealing with a child. She wouldn’t love him at first but, if Andy gave her a chance, she would learn to. Now, if he could get that suit settled and if things worked out Friday night, his world would once again be standing on its legs and not on its head.
Finding Mr. Right Page 7