by Mason Dixon
“That’s good to know. Let me give you one of my cards. If you ever need anything, day or night, give me a call.”
Destiny perused the business card before slipping it in the pocket of her uniform shirt. “I can barely afford rent, let alone a mortgage. When I’m in a better position, I’ll be sure to get in touch with you.”
“You’d better.”
Rashida rolled her eyes. Harry was practically purring. Time to drag her out of the building before she made a spectacle of herself—and everyone else. She tapped her watch. “We’re going to be late.”
“Nonsense.” Harry waved her off. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
“And Destiny has a job to do.”
“Okay, spoilsport, you win. Let’s hit the road. Keep up the good work, Destiny.” Harry clapped Destiny on the shoulder, but she looked like she would have preferred placing her hand much farther south.
Rashida lowered her gaze to Destiny’s hips. She remembered stroking that muscular ass, squeezing it as Destiny moved against her.
Destiny caught her staring. “Thank you, Mrs. Collins.” Then she added with a twinkle in her eye, “Have a good evening, Miss Ivey.”
Rashida felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She tried to keep her composure despite how embarrassed she felt. “Thanks. You, too.”
“I hope to hear from you,” Harry said. “Sooner rather than later.”
Rashida wrapped her arm around Harry’s and led her outside. “Interesting combination of coquettishness and hard sell. Does it work for you?”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked with mock innocence. “It’s called networking, Rashida.”
“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?”
Harry’s guileless façade collapsed into a wicked smile. “You should try it sometime.”
“Maybe I will.”
“No, you won’t, but I’m going to keep hammering away at you until I take that stick out of your ass once and for all. Tonight’s the night. After we meet with Martin, I’m going to loosen you up if it kills me.”
Rashida stopped walking. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
“But I guarantee you’re going to love the feel of it.”
“Do I need to remind you about the no fraternization clause in the employee contract?”
Harry groaned. “Whose idea was that, anyway, some fifties-era housewife who wanted to make sure her husband didn’t spend his afternoons bending his secretary over his desk while giving her dictation?”
“I think it was your mother’s.”
“I rest my case.”
Harry’s mother was one of Low Country Savings’ founders. Her father was a former president and now served as chairman of the board of directors. Harry could have been given a position on staff simply by virtue of her maiden name, but she had chosen to earn her way. Her sales numbers guaranteed she would be employed for years to come.
As Harry dragged her toward the parking lot, Rashida hung on for dear life. “What have I gotten myself into?”
Harry pressed the unlock button on her key fob. The headlights on her dark gray Hummer flashed twice. “You’ll see.”
Rashida climbed into the passenger’s seat of the oversized SUV. As Harry sped toward the interstate, Rashida felt like she was riding shotgun in a tank. Harry, with her dark sunglasses and firm jaw, looked like General MacArthur wading through the Pacific during his triumphant return to the Philippines.
She and Harry had worked together for almost seven years, but they weren’t especially close. They had met for lunch a few times during work hours and Rashida had even attended a handful of dinner parties at Harry’s house, but each occasion had felt like a performance. One from which she hadn’t come away with a deeper understanding of either of the main players.
She looked sidelong at Harry after they merged onto I-16. Harry smiled but didn’t take her eyes off the road. “You want to ask me something.”
“You’ll probably say it’s none of my business.”
“I doubt it. My life’s an open book. So, some would say, is my bedroom door. You can ask me anything. Go ahead. Fire away.”
Rashida hesitated. The question on her mind was one she wouldn’t ask her best friend, let alone someone who was barely a work acquaintance at best. “I can wait until you’re not driving seventy-five miles an hour on a busy highway.”
“I wouldn’t have made it this far in life if I didn’t have the ability to multitask. Let me guess. You want to ask me about Jared. You want to know why, even though gay marriage is legal in several states, I’m still married to a man. I’ll take your silence as a yes. Easy answer? I’m married to him because I want to be. He’s more than my brother’s best friend. He’s mine as well. Like the old joke says, a true friend isn’t someone you can count on when you need to be bailed out of jail. A true friend would be sitting in the cell with you laughing about what a great time you had. That’s who Jared is to me. He’s someone who makes me laugh, understands me, and loves me unconditionally without expecting anything in return. I hope I do the same for him.”
“Have you ever—”
Harry wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No, never. I’ve never slept with a man and he’s never been intimate with a woman. We both see other people, but our relationship—our friendship—remains our central focus. I married him to get my parents off my back. I stay married to him because divorce would be impractical for many reasons, the least of which is monetary. We stupidly didn’t sign a prenup, which could result in a battle over division of assets if we ever had a falling out. But the main reason we’re still together is peace of mind. People may assume one or both of us is gay, but as long as we have these rings on our fingers, they’ll never accuse us of it. Even though this is the twenty-first century, we’re still in the Deep South in a state that’s as red as they come. We’ve made progress in our neck of the woods, but some things haven’t changed. As a woman of color, I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
For Rashida, the past was a catalyst to change the future, not an excuse to allow the present to remain static. She could have taken the path of least resistance in order to meet society’s expectations, but she had opted to be true to herself. Though her life hadn’t been easy, she hadn’t regretted a single moment. Could Harry say the same? Even though she seemed to have everything money could buy, she seemed to be missing a few things it couldn’t.
“It’s obvious Jared makes you happy. I assume you do the same for him. But I have to ask. What would happen if you met someone who swept you off your feet?”
“I have. More than once, in fact.”
“And?”
Harry gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles cracked. “I’m still married, aren’t I? That should tell you something.”
“It tells me you’re willing to live half a life, but it doesn’t tell me why.”
Harry stared straight ahead, her eyes focused on the dozens of cars and trucks sharing the road with them. “Maybe I’m too set in my ways.”
“Or maybe you’re afraid.”
Harry smiled as if she’d finally been thrown a pitch she could hit. “Me? Afraid? I’m the one who brought K-Y jelly and a box of condoms to last year’s White Elephant party.”
Rashida chuckled at the memory of the Bible-thumping head of accounting unwrapping the unexpected gift at the annual exchange of intentionally tacky Christmas presents, but she didn’t let Harry distract her from the conversation at hand. “Doing that took balls, but so does falling in love. When was the last time you did that?”
Harry was quiet for nearly a mile. “When I was too young to realize lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.”
“Who was she?”
“Her name was Emily Colton. She was someone I’d known since we were eight years old. In high school, our seats were arranged alphabetically so Emily sat behind me in practically every class. My hair was longer then. On the days I wore it up, I could feel Emily’s eyes on the back of my
neck. I would sit in class imagining her fingers trailing across my skin. She used to call me Redneck because I was constantly blushing whenever she was around.”
Rashida chuckled. Harry’s childhood nickname was at odds with the sophisticated woman she had grown into. “Or maybe she realized the effect she had on you.”
“Maybe.”
“Did you ever tell her how you felt?”
“I spilled my guts to her on graduation night after I fortified myself with half a bottle of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. She listened patiently, then didn’t say anything for the longest minute of my life. When she finally spoke, it was to ask what took me so long. I tried to play it cool despite the gallons of adrenaline and cheap alcohol coursing through my system. I shrugged and said I was trying to be patient. She kissed me and said, ‘In this case, patience is definitely not a virtue.’” She shifted into a Southern accent even richer than her own.
“How long were you together?”
“We weren’t. The kiss was as close as we ever came. Most of our senior class went to college at the University of Georgia. Emily was one of the few holdouts. She bypassed Athens and chose to study drama at Juilliard. She moved to New York and never came back.”
“Is she still there?”
Harry smiled ruefully as she turned onto I-95. “I’ll say. She’s been up there so long she’s practically a Yankee. A few years ago, she won an Obie—Off-Broadway’s version of a Tony—for an autobiographical one-woman show she produced, directed, and starred in. Jared and I went to see the play on opening night. The show and her performance in it moved me to tears even before she got to the part about me. I sent her a dozen roses backstage. My only regret is not signing the card.”
Rashida placed a comforting hand on Harry’s forearm. “It sounds like not signing a card isn’t your only regret.”
A matching set of tears slowly slid down Harry’s cheeks. She knuckled them away. “You’re going to make me ruin my makeup. Fortunately, Martin won’t notice. He has a crush on you instead of me.”
Rashida did a double take. “Excuse me?”
“Haven’t you ever noticed how attentive he is toward you?”
“I thought he was simply being courtly.”
Harry emitted a sharp bark of laughter. “Courtly, my ass. He wants to fuck you five ways to Sunday.”
“Thanks for telling me that twenty minutes before I sit down to dinner with the man.”
“You’re welcome. Who knows? It might get us a leg up during the negotiations. So to speak.” Harry switched the radio to a GLBTQ station, where the rowdy hosts of a call-in talk show were profanely holding court. “God, I haven’t thought about Emily in ages. I wonder if she remembers me.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“Send her a friend request on Facebook?”
“Or show me those big balls you’re always bragging about and go see her.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why, because you’re scared if you embarked on a real relationship, you’d have to come out to your family?”
“No. I’ll come out to my family after I finish polishing the final draft of my big speech. I’m sure I’ll be cut out of the will as soon as I reach the end, but if I wanted relics from the Civil War, I’d buy them at auction.”
Rashida noticed the trace of bitterness that crept into Harry’s voice, a trace her ribald jokes sometimes failed to hide.
“As much as I might like to,” Harry said, “I can’t make some grand gesture to win Emily’s heart because she’s already spoken for. She and her partner were one of the first to head to the altar when gay marriage became legal in New York.”
Rashida tried to be considerate without being condescending. “I would say I’m sorry to hear that, but it seems wrong to denigrate someone’s happiness, even at the expense of a friend.”
Harry nodded in agreement before literally shaking herself out of her doldrums. “How did we get on this subject anyway? Let’s talk about a more pleasant topic, namely our sexy new security guard. Where in the world did Jackie find her?”
This time, there was no doubt in Rashida’s mind. The burning sensation in her gut was unmistakably jealousy. “So Destiny’s your type?”
“Tall, dark, and handsome with a body that won’t quit. Hell, yeah, she’s my type. What’s yours?”
“I don’t have one.”
Harry looked at her as if she begged to differ then seemed to think better of the idea. “I’ll give you that. You were in a long-term relationship with a sexy Latina. Before that, your bedroom looked like a cross between a United Colors of Benetton ad and the lobby of the U.N.”
Rashida turned to face her. “How is it you’re more aware of my dating history than I am?”
“Like it or not, Savannah’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
“Everyone except me.”
“That’s because you’re not trying hard enough.”
For a brief moment, Rashida wondered how much of her private life was public knowledge. Did someone other than Jackie know she and Destiny had been intimate? If so, her indiscretion—her moment of madness—might cost her her job. Harry’s next question put her fears to rest. Temporarily, anyway.
“Do you think Destiny’s seeing anyone?”
“You’ll have to ask her that, not me.” She quickly changed the subject. “Shouldn’t we be prepping for the meeting?”
“I figured we’d play it by ear.” Harry visibly switched into business mode. Her posture stiffened and her voice became less empathetic, more matter-of-fact. “Let Martin make an offer before you do. Then, no matter what the number is, act as if it’s too high.”
“Martin’s a former colleague. I don’t want to lowball him.”
“You don’t want him to rob us blind, either. I’m familiar with his portfolio. I know how much it’s worth. If he tries to throw out a ridiculous number, I’m going to call him on it.”
“That’s why I brought you along.”
“I thought it was for my good looks and winning personality.”
“Two out of three ain’t bad.”
Harry turned off Highway 278 onto less-traveled Highway 46. A few minutes later, she pulled into a tree-lined parking lot. She switched off the Hummer’s engine and set the parking brake. She and Rashida simultaneously reached for the visors over their respective seats. Peering into the small, rectangular mirrors, Rashida touched up her lipstick and Harry fixed her makeup.
“Martin said he’d meet us in the Dining Room,” Harry said as they walked toward the restaurant. “Hopefully, he’s halfway through his second Bloody Mary and is willing to agree to anything we propose. If you free up another button or two, you’ll have him eating out of the palm of your hand. Or anywhere else you have in mind.”
Rashida gave her a playful nudge with her elbow. When Harry pinned her arms against her sides to ward off further blows, Rashida felt the thrill of a burgeoning relationship. She’d had no idea when she’d woken up that morning she’d end the day making a new friend. One she’d known for years but felt like she was meeting for the first time.
Inside the restaurant, Martin rose to greet them when they approached the table. He looked the same as he had the last time Rashida had seen him. His expensive clothes, designer watch, and hundred-dollar haircut trumpeted his success. His bulging belly advertised he hadn’t skipped many meals. His deep tan suggested he hadn’t missed many rounds on the golf course, either.
Rashida extended her hand. “Martin. A pleasure as always.”
Martin raised the back of her hand to his lips. “The pleasure, I assure you, is mine.”
“Told you so,” Harry said under her breath. She held out her hand. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Martin.”
“How’s your handsome husband?” he asked after a perfunctory handshake.
“Fine.”
Martin looked toward the door. “Will he be joining us this evening?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s hunting white tail tonight.”
“I didn’t think white tail was in season,” Martin said with a frown.
Harry spread her napkin in her lap. “Believe me, it’s always in season.”
Rashida swallowed slowly to keep from choking on her glass of water. She placed her drink order with the waitress and read the menu while she listened to the woman playing blues guitar on the small stage at the front of the room.
“We could keep beating around the bush or we can get right to the point,” she said after the salads arrived. “How much would it cost to purchase Hilton Head Mortgage Company? Name your price.”
“HHMC’s not for sale. Not at any price.”
Rashida splayed her fingers to appear unaffected by his apparent rejection. “It never hurts to ask.”
Martin leaned forward in his chair, a shark-like grin on his face. “That depends on who’s asking.” He wrote two numbers on a cocktail napkin and pushed the tiny paper square toward her. He tapped his index finger against the top figure. “Here’s my number if you’re the one doing the asking.”
Rashida glanced at Harry, who nodded to indicate the price seemed reasonable.
Martin tapped his finger against the second figure. “Here’s my price if the idea to meet with me was Dennis’s instead of yours.”
The second number was twice the size of the first. Rashida nearly whistled in astonishment.
“Dennis needs me. I don’t need him,” Martin said. “Feel free to tell him I said so.” He sat back in his chair, fully aware he was in the driver’s seat. “I’d love to do business with you, Rashida. Unless there’s a change at the top of your organization, I don’t see that happening.”
Rashida felt the meeting begin to slide off the rails and, with it, her hope of advancement. She was in the middle of a cockfight and she didn’t have the proper equipment. “Let’s not be too hasty. I’ll take these numbers back to Savannah and send them up the chain.”
Martin stirred his drink with a stalk of celery. “Dennis would be crazy not to buy my company. He’d be crazier still to pay my asking price. I’ve got him between a rock and a hard place. The same position he had me in three years ago when he swooped in and cut me and the rest of my employees loose because we didn’t fit into his strategic plan. I wish I could see the look on his face when he sees your report. I trust you’ll describe it for me in detail when next we meet.” He signaled for the waitress. “I think I’ll have another drink. Dennis is picking up the tab, isn’t he?”