Will sat absentmindedly in front of the television, staring at the kaleidoscope of colors and images flashing before his eyes. He took another long sip of his scotch and soda, attempting to drown the pangs of his rising depression. He dropped his head and hands between his knees and looked down at the carpet beneath him. The floor was littered with the images of the woman he loved. Why he had chosen to torture himself by going through old photos of Melanie could only be explained by his desperate need to find some sign in the past that they still had a future.
Candace’s e-mail had rocked his world and shaken his confidence. In all of their past communications she’d assured him that Melanie was still unattached, still uninterested in dating, and still working hard to forget him. Each report had given him cause to stay hopeful. And then, with today’s news, hope quickly came tumbling down like a line of dominoes. Will’s eyes scoured the floor, searching for the crumpled remains of Candace’s disheartening communiqué. He found it lying ironically on top of a smiling photograph of Mel on the snowy day they’d met. Will picked up the photo and the printout and read for the hundredth time Candace’s gentle warning tucked within the words of an invitation.
Subj: Griff’s preview
From: LOLLIEPOP
To: STILLWILL
Hey Willi,
What’s shaking down in D.C.? I’m sure you’ve already heard from Griffin that he’s got the lead in a new play. I’m going to the preview on December 11th. The boy is actually nervous, which has to be a first for him, so I know he would appreciate seeing you in the audience. And yes, to answer your question, Melanie is going too.
A little friendly advice: You really should try to come up. Melo and I had a little girl-to-girl at the spa yesterday and apparently she’s met someone. She says they’re simply friends and at this point I believe her, but there’s no reason to take chances. I have no idea who the brother is, but I really think you should make the effort to join us. We’ll keep it on the down-low from Melo so she can’t cop out at the last minute.
I do know that she is not bringing him to the preview, so the seat next to hers is yours. I expect to see you in it. You need to talk to Melanie and Griffin needs all of our support. It’s a win-win for all of us.
Candace
Will finished reading and looked down at the photo of Melanie’s smiling face. That smile had the power of magic. It was the door to his heart and the thought of losing her to another man devastated him. He had given Mel the requested time and space and not a damned thing had changed. And now this? Friend or otherwise, the time for sitting and waiting was over.
Candace is right. There’s no point in taking chances, he thought as he reached for the phone. It didn’t occur to Will until after he’d booked his flight and hotel that Candace’s attitude toward Griffin had done a complete turnabout. Somehow that tidbit of insight bolstered his optimism. Without warning, Will found himself laughing out loud. If Candy and Griff, whose views on the world were as compatible as the liberals’ and conservatives’, could discover a middle ground on which to dwell, he and Melanie certainly could find their way back to each other.
Chapter 10
Griffin paced backstage, praying to the theater gods for a successful performance. Even though this was a small production, intuitively he knew that this could be an important step up his career ladder. Race for the Race was a powerful vehicle that not only showcased his dramatic and comedic talents, but was also so emotionally potent that no observer would leave the place untouched.
Griff parted the drapes slightly and peeked out into the theater. With less than thirty minutes until the curtain went up, the seats were nearly full. Thanks to the efforts of the cast and crew to paper the house, enough free tickets had been distributed to friends and family to ensure a plentiful and appreciative audience. More importantly, Dirk, the playwright and director, had tugged all the strings available to get New York Times critic Frank Rich to review the play. One positive scribble from his pen and Griff’s career would be off and running.
Griffin searched the room seat by seat, looking for the one face he earnestly wanted to behold. His smile broadened when he saw Melanie seated third row center and quickly faded when he noticed that she was sitting alone, surrounded by an empty seat on either side. Neither Will nor Candace were anywhere in sight.
Will’s plan he knew, but where was Candace? It was almost show time. She’d promised to come, but with Candace promises made could become promises broken without thought or explanation. Griffin walked back to his dressing room disbelieving the depth of his disappointment. He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the disruptive emotion from his psyche and clear his head for his upcoming performance.
He opened the door to a small dressing area and stepped onto a path of red-, pink-, and salmon-colored rose petals. Griff looked up to find Candace waiting—her long, sexy legs propped up on his makeup table. Golden stars dusted the tabletop and a bottle of champagne was chilling in a plastic bucket at her feet. Candy sat gently plucking the petals from a bright red American Beauty rose and dropping them into the pile on her lap while Griffin stood in shocked awe, motionless but for the slight jump in the crotch of his pants.
“I’ve been waiting for you. I wanted to give you these,” she said as she stood and threw up a sprinkle of scented confetti into the air. Griffin watched the petals slowly rain down, several clinging to Candace’s hair and exposed cleavage. “I also wanted to deliver this,” she said, stepping toward him and bestowing a deep, soulful kiss on his lips. “Break a leg, baby. I’ll see you after the show,” she added with a promising drawl. She winked at a still-speechless Griffin and lightly brushed his genitals as she walked past him and out the door.
Griff chuckled out loud at this show of vintage Candace—impulsive, unpredictable, always sexy, and when you least expect it, surprisingly thoughtful. In between their rounds of erotic pillow talk these past nine weeks, Griffin had seen glimpses of emotion that urged him to search further for the true woman within. What he’d discovered behind her judgmental and opinionated banter was a strong core of warmth and compassion that Candace kept hidden from most of the world. Griffin sat down at the mirror to touch up his makeup and it suddenly occurred to him that his heart, not to mention his dick, was frantically waving the white flag. Staring back at his own surprise, Griff also realized, with the joy and apprehension that came with such a huge admission, that escape was not an option.
Candace hurried down the center aisle. She was nearly at her assigned row when a woman stepped out in front of her.
“Excuse me,” the woman said, looking straight into Candace’s face. Candy felt herself flinch. Standing behind the woman was Frank Warren.
“Frank, how are you? Candace Bennett—Margent, Katz, Crawford and Thames,” she said in a totally professional tone that didn’t match the wicked gleam in her eyes.
“Ah, yes, very good law firm,” Frank responded, feeling his palms begin to perspire. He could only hope she didn’t create a scene of some sort. With Candy he could never tell. “This is my wife, Regina.”
“Hello,” Regina said, extending her hand. Candace immediately noticed her David Yurman ring, which was the exact replica of the one Frank had given her.
“Beautiful ring,” Candace said slyly as she revealed her own and then laughed, adding that they both had great taste in jewelry.
“Thank you, but actually my husband is the one with the great taste.”
“So Frank, what brings you here?” Candace asked, turning her attention back to her nervous lover.
“Regina sits on the board of this theater company.”
“Yes, and I’m really looking forward to the performance,” Regina said, continuing to make small talk while suspecting nothing.
“Me too. My boyfriend is playing the lead,” Candace said, looking directly at Frank. She was pleased to see his eyebrows converge in a subtle show of jealous displeasure. Let him think that Griff was her man. Shit, fair is fair, and if Frank was
going to continue to play games, she was going to make sure that the field they played on was level.
“The show is starting soon, so if you’ll excuse us,” Frank interrupted. “Candace, it was nice running into you.”
“You too. Enjoy the show.”
Asshole. How dare he buy his wife and me the same jewelry? Candy fumed as she joined Melanie in the audience. You’re going to be sorry for that one, you dick-for-brains.
The two sat quietly in their seats, taking in the excited preshow buzz. Whether the famous Booth Theatre on Broadway or this small thespian lab in the East Village, the ambience was exactly the same—excited anticipation.
“Race for the Race is about a black cyclist, right?” Melanie asked as she flipped through the program. “It says here that Major Taylor was the first black athlete to establish world records and to be part of an integrated pro team in any sport.”
“He was the man way before Lance Armstrong came on the scene,” Candace said, recapping Griffin’s explanation. “The really messed-up thing is that even though Major was breaking all these world records around Europe, he had to fight here in America just to compete.”
“Some folks just can’t seem to handle a black man who excels in areas outside the stereotypical arenas,” Mel commented. “Even today, seventy years later, Tiger Woods gets death threats.”
“It’s not just limited to black men. Serena and Venus have their share of player haters.”
Melanie turned her attention back to the program while Candy amused herself by people-watching, careful not to let her eyes fall in Frank’s direction. As the lights began to flicker, signaling the imminent start of the play, Candace stood up from her seat and canvassed the crowd.
“Who are you looking for?” Melanie asked, pulling off her jacket and placing it on the empty seat next to her.
“The critic from the Times,” Candace fibbed. Where the hell was Will? Had he changed his mind about coming? Just as she considered heading back into the lobby to search for him, Candy saw his tall, imposing form step through the back doors and head down the side aisle. She glanced back at Melanie, who was busy rummaging through her purse, totally unaware of the jolt about to hit her. Candy crossed her fingers and smiled. Will had played it just right. By claiming his seat at the last possible moment, he would deprive Melanie of any opportunity to dash away.
With the grace of an ex-athlete, Will politely slipped past the others, offering a polite and apologetic “Excuse me” as he headed toward his seat. Melanie heard the friendly voice but before she could look up from her purse, the familiar and aromatic scent of Creed cologne swirled under her nose.
It can’t be, Melanie thought, disbelieving each sweet inhale. After six months of trying to ignore Will Freedman, he was once again back at her side.
“I think this belongs to you,” he said, smiling as he handed Mel her jacket.
“Thanks,” Mel said as her mind reeled. Why is he here? Why wouldn’t he be here? Griffin is his best friend. But why didn’t Griffor Candace warn me? If they had, I wouldn’t be sitting here feeling like an idiot and I certainly would have worn a better outfit.
“Will Freedman, is that you?” Candace leaned over to ask in mock surprise.
“Candace.”
New York Times critic my ass, Mel’s eyes screamed in her friend’s direction. As the house lights dimmed and darkness descended over the room, Melanie lightly dug her nails into Candy’s arm in silent protest.
“Ouch,” Candace replied in feigned distress, trying not to laugh aloud. Truth be told, she found pleasure in duping her friend. Candy was certain that while Melo might be uncomfortable now, she’d be thanking her later.
Any further exchange was halted by applause as the curtain went up and Griffin, transformed into Marshall W. (Major) Taylor, lay dying in a hospital bed, recounting his amazing life. Griff’s performance kept Melanie mesmerized, as did this true story of yet another black hero whose life story and historical accomplishments stayed hidden, buried under a coat of racist dust and myopic exposure.
Mel managed to keep her thoughts focused on events unfolding onstage until a quiet lull in the dialogue tempted her to sneak a quick sideways peek. Apparently Will had the same urge and his broad, slightly gapped smile briefly met Mel’s shy, tight-lipped grin before evaporating into the darkness. Melanie felt her chest rise and fall in a nervous exhale of breath as she turned forward, Will’s face sticking in her mind like a black and white negative.
He looks good, she conceded before forcing herself to stay focused on the drama playing out on the stage and not in the seats.
The first act ended to rousing applause. When the house lights came on, Candace abruptly excused herself, wanting to give Will and Melo a chance to talk. She hurried up the center aisle toward the lobby, attempting to pass Frank and his wife without acknowledgment, but was stopped by Regina.
“Candace. Your boyfriend is extremely talented. I’m looking forward to the second act.”
“Thank you. He is talented in so many ways…`he also writes poetry and is a great lover…of the arts.” Candace’s words were directed toward Regina, though her strategically placed pauses clearly made her point to Frank. “I’m on my way to see him now, so if you’ll excuse me…”
Chew on that, motherfucker. Candy sashayed up the rest of the aisle, sure that Frank’s eyes were watching every to-and-fro movement of her swaying behind. She headed into the lobby, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, but absolutely certain that she needed a drink.
Revenge on Candace for deserting her, not drinking, was on Melanie’s mind. The theater was clearing for intermission, but Mel felt trapped in the third row—guilty dread making her want to leave, civility and curiosity forcing her to stay.
“Pardon us,” a voice requested. Melanie quickly stood to let them move past and inadvertently dumped the contents of her lap onto the floor. Two other couples waited as Will retrieved everything and then moved along, leaving him and Melanie alone in the row.
“Here you go,” Will said, handing Mel her purse, program, and scarf while resisting the urge to bury his nose into the fabric to inhale her signature scent.
Melanie accepted her belongings in pin-dropping silence. Uneasiness plucked the words from her mouth and carried them away like crows pilfering a cornfield. She felt her eyes grow large as she bit her lower lip and sat back down.
“You do that whenever you’re nervous,” Will said, recalling one of the million of little quirks and habits he remembered and loved about her.
“Do what?”
“Bite your lip,” he said, deciding not to reveal how this simple but very sexy gesture made him melt like a Florida snowman.
“Some habits are hard to break.”
“So I guess that means you’re still addicted to Red Vines licorice,” Will said with a broad grin.
“Well, at least I don’t eat mustard-and-tomato sandwiches,” Mel countered, causing them to both break out into laughter.
“How are you, Melanie? You look good.”
“Thank you. You do too.”
“Thanks. Look, I’m sorry about just showing up like this, but we thought if you knew that I was coming, you might not, and that wouldn’t be fair to Griffin.”
“We? So Candace did know about this. Griff knew too?”
“Yes, but don’t blame them. This was all my idea,” Will fibbed, not wanting to get his friends in trouble. “I figured this would be a great opportunity for us to finally talk.”
“Griff is doing a great job, isn’t he?” Melanie said, purposely avoiding Will’s intended topic of conversation.
“He is and we’ll discuss his performance at length later, but right now I want to say something to you,” Will said, reaching for her hand. “Melanie, this ongoing silence between us is crazy. Whatever we might have been, I’d like to think we’re still friends. I’ve respected your need for space, but now I need you to respect mine for clarity.”
Melanie nodded in contrite agreemen
t. She had avoided him and their situation long enough. It was only fair that they finally have the conversation they should have had months ago.
“When can you get together?”
“How about tomorrow evening?” Will suggested while the photoplay of a romantic candlelight dinner strutted through in his head.
“Can’t. I have a late meeting.”
“You have to work on a Friday night?” Will asked, sounding much more possessive than he intended.
“It’s crunch time on a big project I’m doing in Miami. It’s so wonderful, Will. I’d love to tell you about it.”
“So, why don’t we have breakfast together on Saturday? You can fill me in on everything you’ve been up to.”
“I’m sorry, but this weekend is impossible. I have to leave Sunday for South Beach and between now and then I still have a mountain of work to get done.”
“You can’t keep avoiding me, Mel. We have to talk. Let’s get everything out on the table—all the whys and the why nots, the do’s and the don’ts. I need answers. It’s the only way for me to move on. I think you owe me that much, don’t you?”
“I’m honestly not trying to put you off again. This just isn’t a good time.”
“It seems that there’s never a good time with you,” Will retorted in frustration. “First you needed space, now it’s work. I don’t intend to go on indefinitely not understanding how or why my life fell apart.”
“I promise, as soon as I return from Miami, I’ll give you a call and we’ll talk.”
“Fine,” Will answered stiffly. He could not keep the frustration and disappointment from seeping through. Other than these few moments here in the theater, his time with Melanie was not going as planned. He had expected this to be a reunion of sorts, not simply another emotional extension for Melanie.
“Will, I promise, we’ll talk soon,” Melanie said, covering his hand with hers for emphasis.
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