by Janice Sims
Trooper Smith nodded. “Technically, yes.”
“Are you sure you didn’t catch them making out at Mt. Glacy while we waited for them to get back with those drinks?” Jalisa Howard, Dominique’s biggest critic, cracked.
“So what were they doing there?” someone else asked.
“What do you think people do up on Mt. Glacy? It’s the lover’s lane after all!” someone else put in huffily.
Dominique felt her temperature rising. She glared at the crowd in dismay, her attitude growing by the second. “Just one cotton-picking minute!” she said.
“You folks are drawing some wrong conclusions,” Blair countered.
“People, this ain’t no time to jump to conclusions,” Mother Maybelle put in.
Reverend Avery threw up his hands. “Everyone, I need quiet here. Reputations are at stake and we’re talking about people who volunteered their time to help us out. Now, Officer Jones, could you tell us how you came to be escorting Mr. Thomas back to our picnic?”
Jones went through the entire incident, mentioning that Blair was driving above the speed limit and that they’d cut him a break and decided to escort him back to the picnic to make sure he got there safely.
Stark silence reigned in the group for several moments. Then someone said loudly, “If you believe that, I’ve got a bridge to sell you.”
A big part of the group laughed loudly. As Reverend Avery talked to the crowd about gossip and rumors, Dominique got her purse and sweater. Mother Maybelle followed her, trying to talk her into staying.
“Chile, don’t slink off like you done something wrong,” Mother Maybelle told Dominique.
Dominique slung her bag on one shoulder and her purse on the other. “I’m so mad that I’m liable to say something I’m going to regret. I can’t believe the things they’re saying.”
She still remembered the things people said before her marriage to Phil. They’d whispered that he was just playing her, that he’d been paid to marry her, and that he still had a thing for Lainey Mikelson and RoAnn Tackett. Lainey had even gotten in her face and told her that if she married Phil, she’d be sorry because he was addicted to Lainey’s love.
Dominique could still see the vengeful smirk on Lainey’s face when she’d caught the hussy in her bed with Phil. Later she’d discovered that Phil’s parents had opened his trust fund and added a bonus after his marriage to her. She didn’t think she could ever listen to rumors and gossip again without reliving pain and heart-ache.
Maybelle put an arm around Dominique’s shoulders.
“Some of ’em are just kidding. Others like to gossip. Don’t let them drive you away from folks who care about you.”
Dominique’s chest felt heavy. Her eyelids stung from her need to cry. Pure stubbornness kept her from it. “I’ve got to get out of here before I do something to embarrass myself,” she declared.
Gently removing the older woman’s arm, she started the walk to her car.
“Don’t blame Blair,” Mother Maybelle called after her, “It’s not his fault.”
Dominique’s breath came out in a huff. His fault indeed. If Blair Thomas hadn’t been speeding, this latest round of idle speculation wouldn’t have happened. That thought stayed with Dominique as she got into her car and drove out of the park. Blair appeared near the lot entrance and held up a hand to stop her, but she just kept going.
Back on the interstate, she let the tears flow. More than ever, she was convinced that nothing would go right for her until left Red Oaks for good. Small-town life was like living in a fishbowl, and she needed at least a lake to live her life freely.
She would do everything she could to stay away from Blair during his visit. He’d landed her in a bad situation and brought a scrutiny she didn’t need and put her name out there to be trashed. Again.
Three
Dominique got up early the next morning to jog through the park across the street from her apartment complex. The slightly cool breeze caressed her cheeks and played with her hair. By the time she got back home, she felt energized.
The phone was ringing when she let herself in and kicked off her shoes. She lifted the receiver and spoke into it. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Dominique. Is there something you want to tell me?” a voice inquired on the other end.
Dominique recognized her mother’s soft Southern drawl. “Not really, Mama. What’s up?”
“Something about you and some racing guy making out in lover’s lane?”
Dominique’s temper shot up and boiled over. The town gossip squad must have stayed up all night to get the word out. It was only eight o’clock in the morning, a record, even for them. “Don’t those people have anything thing better to do?”
Her mother’s voice was soothing. “Now honey, you’ve lived here most of your life, so you know how it is in a small town. The best thing to do is to avoid giving them anything to feed the fire.”
“I can’t help it if Blair Thomas decided to race back to the picnic and the state troopers caught him at it,” Dominique snapped.
“But what were you two doing in lovers lane? I haven’t seen you so much as look at a man in years! This man must be something special.”
“Mama, we weren’t in lover’s lane. When the state troopers stopped him on the interstate, we were at Mt. Glacy.”
“So technically speaking, you were in lover’s lane.”
Dominique was tired of hearing that particular phrase. She hit the laminated kitchen table with a fist. “Mama, I can’t talk about this. Nothing happened, and if anyone says it did, they’re making it up!”
Her mother’s voice took on the gentle, controlling note which had worked well when Dominique had been a child. “Now Dominique, you need to calm yourself down. They aren’t saying anything worth you getting so upset about.”
“Mama, I was about to go for a run,” she lied. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
Her mother sighed. “Certainly, dear. Don’t forget you’re expected for supper tomorrow evening, six-thirty sharp.”
Dominique said her good-bye and replaced the receiver. This mess will blow over in a day or two, she told herself as she fried bacon and eggs and made toast and raspberry tea. It’s not like the situation with Phil, where they saw him cheating and talked about it for years.
With her favorite breakfast and the morning paper, Dominique settled down at the kitchen table to enjoy herself. She nearly choked on her tea when she saw the Busy Bee column in the Red Oaks Monitor.
Rumor has it that one of our own got busy up on Mt. Glacy with infamous race car driver, Blair Thomas. Romance was all but over when a couple of Georgia state troopers happened along, escorted the couple back to the picnic, and ensured that the parched citizens at the Red Oaks Christian Fellowship Men’s Day picnic got something to drink.
Dominique’s breath caught in her throat. She knew that the real reason she was upset was because she hadn’t gotten over Phil’s betrayal or the town’s reaction to it. In her heart, she still couldn’t forgive herself for being taken in by him. Quick tears pricked her eyelids and slipped down her face at the sheer unfairness of the entire situation. She’d seen Blair Thomas coming and kept her distance, and she’d still wound up on the short end of the stick.
She didn’t like being in the limelight, and she hated being talked about. No longer hungry, she grabbed her sunglasses and went back to the park across the street.
Blair woke up at Scooter’s house with an uneasy feeling. He’d spent a good part of the previous night trying to explain what had happened, but the more he talked, the less people believed him. He’d seen the vulnerable look in Dominique’s eyes, despite her anger, and knew that she’d been hurt by what had happened. Although it was the town gossips who’d upset her, he accepted some of the blame for speeding in the first place.
After a hot shower and a fresh set of clothes, Blair made ham and cheese omelets and coffee for Scooter and himself. They ate breakfast in the cheery yellow kitchen with the
ceramic tile floor before Scooter took off for his job at Southern Software.
With the sprawling house to himself, Blair settled in front of the television with the local newspaper. When he got to the Busy Bee column, he shook his head and reread the words in dismay. By now he knew that the only thing he and Dominique could do was hold their heads high and move forward. Things had gotten to the point where the more they denied the story, the more people believed it. Still, he wanted to talk to her and tell her how much he regretted everything that had happened.
Searching the cabinets in the bottom of the old china cabinet and the buffet in the dining room, he found the white pages and searched for “Winston.” The single number listed had an address on Magnolia Road. Pondering it, he guessed that the number belonged to Dominique’s parents. Deciding to try the number, he lifted the telephone receiver and started dialing.
The doorbell rang. Replacing the receiver, he went to answer it. The door wasn’t locked, so he merely turned the knob and pulled it open.
With her frosted hair impeccably coiffed, Maybelle Carmichael stood on the doorstep in a lavender pantsuit and matching accessories, beaming at him. “Good morning, Blair. How ya doing, son?”
“Morning, Mrs. Carmichael. I’m okay. Come on in. Would you like some coffee? I could make you breakfast,” he offered before realizing that he and Scooter had eaten everything he’d cooked.
“Why thank you, Blair, but I already ate. I was hoping ya’d want to go visiting with me. A woman needs a handsome young escort to drive her around town,” she said, with a smile in her voice.
He knew she was teasing him, but the fact was that several men still scrambled to do her bidding. Blair grinned. “Sure, I’ll tag along. Where are you going?”
“We can go to the Winston’s first and then I have a few other places in mind. What’cha think?”
The thought pepped up his spirits. She knew where to go and getting in to talk to Dominique would be easy with Maybelle Carmichael. “Ma’am, that’s a fine idea,” he responded, “I’ll get my keys.”
“You don’t need no keys cause we’re taking my car,” she informed him in a pleasant tone that brooked no argument. Her sharp eyes skimmed his jeans and T-shirt. She frowned and made a sucking sound with her teeth. “And you better change into some visiting clothes. We don’t want them thinking you ain’t got no manners.”
He knew she was right. Blair headed toward Scooter’s spare bedroom, then turned back, realizing that in his excitement to get to the Winstons, he’d left Mother Maybelle standing in the doorway. Maybelle Carmichael was stepping into the house and placing her lavender purse on the living room coffee table like it belonged there. “You go ahead. I’ll have some of that coffee while I wait,” she informed him absently.
Blair hurried to change. In the dresser mirror he checked his appearance, and, satisfied with the result, returned to the living room. At the back of the house, Mrs. Carmichael had already started the dishwasher, washed off the table, and was in the kitchen sipping coffee with the paper. She worked fast.
She glanced up to scan the tan pants and shirt he’d matched with a navy blazer. Then she scrutinized his Hugo Boss Italian leather shoes and nodded approvingly. “You clean up pretty good, son.”
Acknowledging the compliment, he followed her out of the house. As instructed by Scooter, he slammed the door shut, but didn’t lock it. Escorting Mrs. Carmichael down the steps to her gold Cadillac, he helped her into the posh tan interior and accepted the keys. Then he got in and started the car.
Under Mrs. Carmichael’s direction, the drive to the Winston’s took him back to the interstate and two exits south. The wind from his open window filled Blair’s ears as he turned onto Magnolia Road. Beautifully landscaped trees, grass and flowers lined the road and flowed along the sides. At the end of the road stood a luxurious white mansion built in the Southern tradition of antebellum homes. A facade of floor-length windows and lavishly framed antique porches stood behind tall white columns.
The elaborate white picket fence opened as he approached, and two guards wearing blue uniforms appeared and asked him to identify himself. Then he was directed to a spot on the long circular drive that led to the mansion.
The front door opened as Blair mounted the wood steps with Mrs. Carmichael. A maid in blue and a tall, slender woman in a cream silk pantsuit stood in the doorway. The woman had Dominique’s soft brown eyes and generous mouth, but instead of shoulder-length auburn hair, she sported a cap of golden brown curls.
The woman smiled at them as the maid opened the door. Then she stepped forward to greet and hug Maybelle Carmichael. She turned to Blair and spoke in a sweet and cultured voice. “Hello, how do you do? I’m Deborah Winston, and this is Lally Ryker.”
He gave his name, noting that her eyes widened as she warmly shook his hand.
“I’ve known this young man since he was in diapers and I’m so proud of everything he’s done,” Mrs. Carmichael said proudly. “They done already started gossiping about him and Dominique, but I didn’t want that to ruin their chances of getting together. I brought him along so you could get to know him and see what a fine young man he is.”
“We’re glad you did,” Deborah Winston said. She gave Blair her attention. “Welcome to our home.” Her smile widened. “Now ya’all come on in and get comfortable.”
They stepped into the lavish white foyer, their feet sinking into the plush carpet.
“Is Dominique at home?” Blair asked as the front door closed.
“She’s probably working, but she does visit us when she gets the chance,” Deborah Winston answered. “Come join us out on the deck,” she said pleasantly, leading the way down a long hall, past an opulently furnished living room and a formal dining room.
Blair followed with a supporting hand on Maybelle’s elbow. His thoughts were on Dominique. So she had her own place. Considering that she had to be at least twenty-eight, it didn’t really surprise him, but he imagined that her parents’ home would be hard to beat in terms of comfort and class.
Deborah Winston drew open a screen door to reveal a canopy-covered wood porch that ran the length of the house.
A tall, beefy brown man with dark eyes and a touch of gray at his temples sat in a lounger with his feet up. He greeted Maybelle warmly, then nodded and scanned Blair quietly while his wife made introductions.
“So Mr. Thomas,” the older man bit out testily once they’d finished introductions, “I’ve been hearing a lot about you and my daughter. What really happened last night?”
That was to the point. Blair didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. It wasn’t as if Dominique was a teenager who needed to be protected by her parents. She was a grown woman with a place of her own. With a deep breath, he launched into a long explanation.
John and Deborah Winston and Mrs. Carmichael listened intently. When Blair had finished, Winston’s eyes narrowed and he was silent for a few moments more. “I thought it might be something like that.” A sudden smile transformed his face.
The women laughed.
Blair exhaled an involuntary sigh of relief.
Winston patted him on the shoulder and motioned him to a chair. “So Blair, how long are you going to be in town?”
Blair filled him in.
“I thought you two men would have a lot in common,” Maybelle added. “John, Blair is out there struggling to build his business like you did before you lucked up on that first bank.”
“Do you have a plan?” Winston asked Blair.
Blair nodded. “Yes. I’m hoping to retire from racing by the time I’m forty. When I win, I pay my people and put the rest into the company. I’m incorporated, you know. The company isn’t only about racing, we’re constantly improving our high-performance engines and developing new ones. We have a few automotive manufacturers interested in some of the toned-down versions. We use endorsements to cut the costs of racing and maintaining the cars.”
“John’s been looking
for ways to advertise the Winston Banks,” Deborah interjected. “Do you have any bank sponsors?”
Surprised at the change in the conversation, Blair turned to met her gaze. “No, I don’t.” Sponsors were hard to get. He turned back to John, trying not to appear too eager. “I’m always looking for sponsors. Do you think you might be interested, sir?”
“Call me John,” he corrected. “And yes, I’ve got some serious interest. I believe in supporting the African-American community, and I’ve been thinking about this ever since Deacon Jones told the congregation that you were coming to town. What would you think about an endorsement from the bank in exchange for a television commercial or two?”
Blair nearly fell over with shock. “I’d love it.”
The older man nodded. “The publicity would be good for both of us. I’ll talk to my lawyer and have him draw up something in the morning. Then we can discuss it after dinner tomorrow.”
“You’re invited to have dinner with us tomorrow, Blair,” Deborah chimed in. “Please come. You’re always welcome, Mother Maybelle, so you come, too. We’ll all be here and so will Dominique. The chef will be whipping up something extra special.”
An endorsement and dinner with Dominique? Blair was pleased with the turn of events. “Thank you for inviting me. I’d love to come. What time are you having dinner?”
Deborah flashed him a brilliant smile. “We start at six-thirty sharp and we dress for dinner.”
Diamonds flashed as Maybelle touched Deborah’s hand. “I’m won’t make this one, honey, but thank you for inviting me.”
John’s voice took on a teasing note. “You got a hot date, Maybelle?”
Maybelle laughed playfully. “Other plans.”
Just then, Lally Ryker appeared with a double-decker rolling cart which contained a large tray of appetizers, plates, utensils, and napkins. Conversation continued as they spent the next half hour snacking on wing dings, shrimp, carrot and celery sticks, and a fruit tray. Blair and John washed theirs down with beer, while the ladies drank wine and soda.