Flying High

by Gwynne Forster

  She glued her gaze to the papers in the manila folder, though all she saw was Gerald Latham Senior running from her bedroom with his clothing and shoes in his hands.

  “Dr. Powers, is anything wrong?”

  She willed herself to respond, summoning her resources as a professional and as a woman. “No. I have to think about this,” she said, her aplomb restored. “Let me study these papers, and as soon as I work out a plan for him, my receptionist will call you.”

  She stood to indicate that the interview was over. The woman stood, obviously nonplussed, but her breeding showed when she smiled graciously, extended her hand and thanked Audrey.

  “I hope we’ll hear from you soon.”

  Audrey looked down at the boy and forced a smile. “Of course. In a day or so.”

  Mrs. Gerald Latham and her son, Gerald Latham Junior, walked out of Audrey’s office, and she nearly collapsed into the chair. She didn’t believe in fate, but something approximating it was fooling with her life. Abruptly, she sat forward. Oh, yes. And it was dealing with the life of Gerald Latham Senior, too. The chickens had come home to roost. His son’s right foot had been mangled in an accident and subjected to several operations. But without proper therapy he wouldn’t walk perfectly again.

  “I’m not the only therapist in this country,” she said, placing the file in her out box, fully aware that in Washington, D.C., she was the most prominent physician with that specialty. Let him hurt as she had hurt. Let him suffer. He owed her. Why shouldn’t she collect? And why should an innocent child suffer for what you allowed his father to do? She tried to banish the thought, but her conscience wouldn’t allow it.

  * * *

  The next day and the next, she wrestled between her longing for vengeance and her deeply ingrained allegiance to truth and integrity and to doing what she knew to be right. She fought the boy at night as he hobbled through her dreams, stumbling on piles of bricks, falling into traps, slipping into muddy ditches—and always emerging clean, unwrinkled and with a smile on his face. Her conscience flailed her in her waking hours and as she tried to sleep, but she couldn’t seem to make the call that would start Gerald Latham’s son toward complete recovery.

  Chapter 9

  Nelson looked over the results of his interview with Rufus Meade, saw that it contained nothing to which he could object, and marveled at its insightfulness. He phoned Meade.

  “You did what you had to do, man. Great job. I sure didn’t tell you all this, so you went to the right sources for the filler.”

  “Glad you’re pleased. I decided not to include that incident I saw tucked on a back page of The Washington Post.”

  His name hadn’t appeared in connection with that article, and he wondered if Meade was fishing for news. “How’d you figure out it involved me?”

  “Wasn’t difficult. The child’s last name was the clue. I gather he loves to identify himself as Ricky Wainwright. That seemed to amuse the Post’s reporter.”

  He let himself relax. “Are you planning to do anything with that information?”

  “Nah, man. I sense that’s an NSS matter, and it probably shouldn’t have been reported in the first place. I would like to meet that kid, though. He’s a clever one.”

  He didn’t know a lot of reporters whose company he enjoyed, but he wouldn’t mind getting to know a man who’d made himself a legend both as a football player and as a journalist. “I’ll speak with my housekeeper and see what she can put together. She’s a great cook and loves to show off her culinary skills. I hope you’ll bring your significant other.”

  “My wife, Naomi Logan-Meade. Just let me know when you’d like us to come. Say the words good cook and I’ll be right on time.”

  Nelson liked the man, seemingly oblivious of his aura and the high regard in which people held him. To his surprise, he found he enjoyed speaking with a man who wasn’t connected to the military, that it refreshed him to meet someone as a human being and not as an individual with a rank that defined who he was.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and hung up.

  After getting Lena’s delighted agreement to take care of the dinner, he phoned Audrey. “You seem down, or maybe preoccupied. Is there any way that I can help?”

  “Thanks, but I’m... Maybe it’s lack of sleep. How are you?”

  “Me? I’m fine. I’m inviting a man and his wife for dinner Thursday night, and I’d like you to join us. Can you make it?”

  “Sure. I’d love that. Aunt Lena will really pull out all the stops. What time?”

  “I’d like to be at your place for you at six.”

  “But I can—”

  “Audrey, I don’t ask women to meet me for a dinner date.”

  “Oops! Better put on my ‘tweeds’ if that’s the way it is.”

  He gave in to a hearty laugh. “I can’t imagine that any woman would outshine you. By the way, when can we have that weekend to ourselves?”

  “Maybe after this one coming up? Do you have any idea when these guys will stop tailing us?”

  “I know it’s hard on you, but try to be patient. It can’t go on forever.”

  “And thank God for that. I suppose I’ve weathered worse.”

  She had a way of saying such things, and he wondered, not for the first time, what was behind it. She had changed the subject, and although he didn’t want to put their idyll at some indefinite time in the future, he didn’t question her; he was too glad that she’d agreed to go with him at all.

  * * *

  “Oh, what the heck, nobody’s going to mistake me for a siren,” Audrey said that Thursday afternoon as she stood staring at the dresses in her closet. Having reassured herself with that pronouncement, she reached for a floor-length brick-red chiffon dress that flattered her coloring and exposed so much of her back that she couldn’t wear a bra. She fastened her hair in a French knot with the aid of two ivory pick-combs, put diamond studs in her ears, Fendi perfume in her cleavage, picked up the black silk evening bag that complemented her black silk slippers and strolled downstairs to wait for Nelson.

  You will not think about the Lathams this night, she admonished herself. You are going to be warm, friendly and witty if it kills you. She blinked back an unexpected tear. Why should she be weepy when she hadn’t done anything wrong? Gerald was the architect of that hideous crime, not she.

  She answered the doorbell, and earned a long, sharp whistle worthy of any hard-hat construction worker.

  “Somebody should have warned me. This woman is a siren.” Nelson pretended to mop his brow. “I’m in trouble, and the sun hasn’t even set. When the moon comes up, I’ll probably stand out on my deck and howl like a timber wolf.”

  She reached up and kissed his jaw. “Behave yourself. I’m about to have a meltdown, but you don’t hear me meowing, do you?”

  His even white teeth glistened in the smile that she loved. “Why would you do that?”

  “Since you asked, nothing I get to eat at your place tonight could hold a light to you. If I don’t straighten out my head, I’ll think I’m Cinderella. You look...well... I hate the word, but you look smashing. Now let’s go before I take it all back.”

  He didn’t move; his eyes shimmered with need and he spoke in a voice devoid of humor.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, more so it seems each time I look at you.”

  As far as she and most people who knew her were concerned, she hadn’t been beautiful a day in her life. Nice-looking? Yes. Beautiful? Definitely not.

  “I’m glad you see me that way. Thanks,” she said, handing him a light stole. Noticing his baffled stare, she said, “You’re wearing a linen jacket. It gets cool these evenings, and when I turn around, you’ll see why I could freeze in August.”

  He grinned. “Hmm. You’re right. We’d better go.”

 
* * *

  “Looks as if Lena decided to show off,” Nelson said as they entered the house. “Good heavens! Anybody would think she’s staging a seduction.” A rumble of laughter poured out of him. “I should have told her Meade is bringing his wife.”

  She whirled around and squinted at him. “What Meade are you talking about?”

  He bent over to smell the bowl of tea roses on the inlaid walnut table that faced the living room window. “Rufus Meade. Know him?”

  “You mean the journalist? You’re kidding.”

  He opened the bar. “No, I’m not. I see Lena has some cracked ice here. Seems like she’s planning a real party. Soft lights, Gershwin love songs coming from somewhere, roses. I’d better go in there and tone her down. Wouldn’t surprise me if she served roast quail for the first course.”

  He started toward the kitchen, but she stopped him. “I didn’t know you knew Rufus Meade. I used to scream my head off at the ’skins games when he was their wide receiver. I read his stuff all the time. He’s a classy guy.”

  “He is that. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to meet a fan.”

  Her balled fists went to the red chiffon that covered her hips. “Now you wait a minute. I do not gush over celebrities.”

  “I didn’t suggest you did. Nothing wrong with being interested. I’m curious about him myself. That story he did on Afghanistan and me that appeared in the weekend Post is as good a piece of reporting as I’ve ever read.”

  “What’s we having for din...?” He stared at Lena in a long, gold-embroidered black silk caftan, her hair in a knot at her nape, gold bangles in her ears. “Whew! What have we got here?”

  “I’ll have you know, sir, there ain’t no flies on Lena Anderson. We’re having distinguished guests, and me and Ricky are acting the part.”

  “Where is he? Never mind, I hear him downstairs at the piano. What are we having?”

  “Seven courses. Coulibiac of salmon. Braised quail. Peach sorbet for a palate cleanser. Filet mignon roast, fluted mushrooms, asparagus tips and tiny red potatoes. Green salad. Assorted cheeses with my special bread, and crème Courvoisier, coffee and mints. The menu is on the dining-room table.”

  Nelson pulled up his bottom lip and hoped his eyes would someday return to their normal size. “I never said the president was coming! How’s Ricky going to handle this? Anything more than a hamburger disgusts him.”

  “Ricky is going to eat his meal, and he’s going to act as if this is what he eats for dinner every day.”

  He inclined his head to the left. “Yeah? Which Ricky are you talking about?”

  “Ours. You’ll see. And wait’ll you see him in his navy blue suit, long pants and all. Cute as he can be.”

  Nelson sat down on the stool beside the kitchen sink. “I didn’t know he had a navy blue suit with long pants.”

  “Oh, we got it this morning.” She looked toward the ceiling, her face brimming with pride. “And don’t he just love ’em! I declare, it don’t take much to make a little one happy.”

  Audrey risked a glance at Nelson. He was a man who inspired admiration, not pity, but right then she pitied him, for he was as nonplussed a person as she had ever seen. At that moment, Ricky burst into the kitchen.

  “Miss Lena, I played the whole piece. I got it...Audie!” Miracle of miracles, she thought as his whole demeanor changed. “Hi, Audie. How are you?” He glanced toward Lena. “Uh...gee, you look so pretty.”

  She waited for him to come for his hug, but instead he walked over to Nelson. “Unca Nelson, hi. What time is company coming? You like my suit?”

  “Definitely. I like it and I like you in it.”

  A grin spread over Ricky’s face, then he leaned forward and whispered, “Miss Lena took me to the store this morning and bought it. I love Miss Lena.”

  The doorbell rang, and Nelson patted Ricky on the shoulder and went to open the door. Audrey wondered how the security guards would treat Nelson’s visitors. It would certainly heighten the man’s curiosity if they questioned him as to why he wanted to enter Nelson’s home. Well, they’d soon know. She strolled into the living room and sat down in a beige velvet chair that didn’t clash with her red dress.

  * * *

  Nelson greeted Rufus Meade and his wife, Naomi Logan-Meade. An elegant man with a woman who complements him, Nelson thought as he walked with them to the living room. He looked at Audrey, relaxed and seemingly at home in his favorite chair, beautiful and queenly, and his heartbeat accelerated. She stood as he approached with his guests. He didn’t know what prompted him to do it, but before introducing them, he slung an arm around her waist, breathed in the perfumed aura that adorned her and walked with her to where Meade stood with his wife.

  “This is Dr. Audrey Powers,” he said, and knew at once that his act of possessiveness with Audrey was not lost on Meade, for the man lifted his left eyebrow and let a half smile play around his mouth.

  “I’m happy to meet you, Dr. Powers. This is my wife, Naomi Logan-Meade.”

  Nelson got through the introductions as quickly as possible because he disliked formality in intimate settings. The two women greeted each other warmly, and he realized he wanted them to be friends, for he didn’t doubt that he and Meade had much in common and would enjoy a warm friendship.

  He excused himself and went to the kitchen. “Could you two come with me?” he asked Lena and Ricky. “I want you to meet our guests.”

  Ricky jumped from the stool on which he’d perched. “Is my suit all right, Unca Nelson?”

  “Perfect. You look fine.”

  “What about my tie? I don’t like this tie.”

  He couldn’t help smiling. “It looks great, and it’s properly tied. Come on.”

  “You look good,” he told Lena. “Downright frisky, I’d say.”

  She treated him to a hearty laugh. “I thought I told you there ain’t no flies on me. In my day, I was something else. I could get it on with the best of ’em.”

  It amused him that Ricky bounded ahead of them as they walked to the living room, ran up to Rufus Meade and held out his hand. “How you doing, Mr. Meade? I’m Ricky Wainwright.”

  Meade’s face creased into a smile, warm and friendly. “Well, well. I’m fine, Ricky. How are you? I read about you.”

  “Did you see my picture? They took a lot of pictures. My Unca Nelson said you wrote something about him.”

  “That’s right, I did,” Meade said, obviously delighted with the boy. “Ricky, this is my wife, Naomi Logan-Meade.”

  Ricky looked from Naomi to Audrey and back to Naomi. “How are you, Miss Na...N...Naomi? Are you gonna go home with Mr. Meade?”

  Naomi laughed. “Absolutely. You bet I am.”

  Everyone present could see that her answer pleased Ricky, who walked over and stood beside Audrey’s chair. “You have any little girls and boys?” he asked Naomi.

  She told him about her seventeen-year-old son, Aaron, the eight-year-old twins—Preston and Sheldon—and her four-year-old daughter, Judy, whom they’d named after her great-grandfather, Judd.

  Nelson had a twinge of guilt when Ricky gazed at him pleading with his eyes. “Can she come over and play with me?”

  “Yeah. If she wants to.” He hadn’t realized that Ricky felt badly for having lost Stacey’s friendship. He knew so little about the matter that he couldn’t explain to Ricky why he couldn’t have Stacey for a playmate, and he wouldn’t lie to the child for any reason.

  “We’ll have a picnic at our place, Ricky, and you’ll meet Judy and our boys,” Naomi said.

  “Trust me, it’s only Judy he’s interested in. I’ve got a ladies’ man on my hands. You haven’t met the rest of my family,” Nelson said. “This is Lena Anderson. She looks after Ricky and me, and she’s also Audrey’s aunt.”

  “Glad to meet you
both,” Lena said, accepting their acknowledgements. “Y’all come on to the dining room. We’re having champagne with the first course, so you’d better not have drinks, that is, not unless you want to fall out on your face.”

  Rufus stood and took Naomi’s hand. “Works for me. I heard about your magic with food, and I didn’t even eat lunch.”

  Nelson had never known Lena to show diffidence, or was it feminine vanity, as she did then, along with what was certainly a bit of flirtatiousness. My goodness, he thought, she’s a man’s woman, and what’s more, Meade knows it.

  He seated Audrey opposite his place at the head of the table. “What kind of message are you sending to these people?” she whispered.

  “That you’re my woman. You got any disagreement with that?” he asked, and placed a loving pat on her bare back. When he glanced at Lena, he saw that she’d been waiting to see where he would seat Audrey, and her expression of satisfaction didn’t escape him.

  Lena said grace, and they began the meal with coulibiac of salmon, pumpernickel bread, and Moët & Chandon champagne.

  “I don’t drink champagne,” Ricky said to Rufus. “They won’t let me.” He then took it upon himself to entertain Meade as they made their way through Lena’s seven-course dinner. Nelson waited for Ricky to complain, but nothing was forthcoming, and he wondered what Lena promised him in exchange for such exceptional behavior.

  He recognized in himself a sense of pride in his home, his family and the woman who faced him at the other end of the table. She’s what I need in my life, but I am definitely not what she needs. Not with the uncertainties facing me. And if she knew how much pain I’m in right now, she’d want to send me to a hospital.

  She’d been speaking with Naomi when her glance caught his, and she stopped midsentence as if experiencing a shock. At that moment, something akin to tremors rolled through him while he stared at her, transfixed. He knew that if they had been alone, they would have made love. The urge to have her nearly overpowered him as heat fired his loins and desire found its target with the accuracy of a marksman’s arrow. He didn’t shift his gaze, for he knew that everyone present, including Ricky, had focused on them. He smiled as best he could, and Audrey expelled a long breath, releasing her tension.