Fools Rush In

by Gwynne Forster

  “You mean Adam’s wife?”

  “Who else? Adam’s my only brother. He’s a lucky man. Our families strew their path with one obstacle after another, but they persevered. She was made for him. You and I should be so lucky. Forget about that wife business, and hire a nanny.”

  “Yeah. You may be right, man.” Duncan threw Wayne a high five and headed for the heart of West Baltimore, where he put in at least a weekly appearance at CafeAhNay—a local bar, restaurant, and billiards hangout on Liberty Street—to keep up his contacts. As an investigative reporter, he needed to maintain good relations with his sources.

  Several days later, Mattie stopped Duncan when he walked into the house after work. “Mr. B, you know I think you’re a good man, but you also know I don’t do no full time housework and no babysitting. I just been doing all this work ’round here to help you out. And I’m good and sick of all these women that’s started calling here axing about you. It ain’t my business, but having all these women chase you ain’t a proper atmosphere for a baby girl. A sweet little tyke, she is, too. All the same, Mr. B, you know me and phones don’t get along. I wish you’d get a nanny for Tonya. I’ll help you out, but I ain’t happy doing it.”

  He patted her shoulder “I’ve decided to do that, Mattie. Just bear with me.”

  He stared at her two front teeth, a perfect tribute to Bugs Bunny. “Mr. B, there ain’t a woman nowhere what can resist you when you looks helpless like that. If I wasn’t old enough to be your mother, and if I didn’t have my Moe, I’d be in trouble. You make sure you get somebody me and Tonya can get along with, now.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said and rushed past her to find a place where he could laugh in peace. She hadn’t noticed that he had gaped at her orange hair, front teeth, red lips, and purple dress. She’d called it “looking helpless.”

  Justine listed her house with a real estate agent and began packing her things. She’d leave that torture chamber in which she’d lived with Kenneth, that brick and mortar vessel of pain and horror, if she had to give it away. She couldn’t bear it any more than she could stand the pitying eyes of her neighbors and the thoughtlessness of the store clerks and delivery men who seemed to enjoy greeting her with, “So sorry to hear about Mr. Montgomery, Ms. Montgomery. It sure was a tragedy.” As if they had decided among themselves how best to remind her that her husband would be alive if he hadn’t been unfaithful to her.

  She left the real estate office, bought a copy of The Washington Post at the corner drugstore, and went home, where she made a cup of coffee, went into the guest room, pulled off her shoes, and sat on the bed. She hadn’t been in the master bedroom—the den of lies whose walls probably still echoed his false shouts of ecstasy in her arms—since the day he died, and she never wanted to see the inside of it again. The cleaning woman had removed her things and had packed his and taken them away. She flipped through the want-ads to check the job offers. She had to change her life, but resuming her profession as a clinical psychologist held no interest. She sat forward, more alert than in almost a year. Duncan Banks had advertised for a nanny and had given a postal address. She knew he’d gotten a divorce. Did she dare? She rushed to the phone, ignoring his request that the application be made in writing.

  “Duncan Banks, speaking.”

  “Mr. Banks, this is Justine Taylor. I’d like to apply for the position you advertised in The Washington Post.”

  The voice, soft and refined, set him back a bit. He expected a person applying for a job as babysitter to be somewhat raw around the edges.

  “I prefer applications in writing, Miss Taylor.”

  “I know, but I figured I’d get a lead on the other applicants. I need a job, and I can provide good references. If I have to sleep in, I’d like to visit your home before we talk business.”

  That made sense. He gave her his address and realized that he hoped she’d suit him. “When can you come out?”

  She didn’t hesitate, and he liked that. Coyness in women had always put a sour taste in his mouth. “This evening, if you’d like. Say, a couple of hours from now?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Perfect. I’ll get Tonya ready for bed, but she’ll still be awake when you get here.”

  Justine hung up, fell back across the bed, and kicked up her heels. She made no attempt to squelch the scream of joy that peeled from her throat. She had spoken with him, and she would see her child. She rolled over and said a prayer of thanks. She’d never wanted anything as badly as she wanted that job and the chance to nurture her own child, to know that her baby was well cared for and loved. Tonya. He’d named her daughter Tonya. She liked the name. Her heart thundered as it raced inside her chest like a runaway train. She didn’t trust herself to drive in that state. After all this time. And all the pain. Maybe she was being given another chance. She didn’t mislead herself into believing that what she was about to do was fair to herself, Tonya, or Duncan Banks, but what choice did she have? If she’d been a well woman, she wouldn’t have given up her child for adoption. As a psychologist, she understood what she’d gone through and considered herself fortunate to have survived that awful trauma. She telephoned a deacon of her church who had a notarized letter of recommendation ready for her when she stopped by his house. She’d chosen him because he knew her only by her maiden name. The nursery school at which she’d volunteered since before her marriage and where she was known as Miss Taylor provided her second reference.

  She styled her hair in a French twist, and in spite of the sweltering August heat, dressed carefully in a conservative beige silk suit and olive-green blouse, added brown accessories, debated the advisability of wearing lipstick, decided to apply it, and headed for her door. The phone rang and she almost didn’t answer it fearing that Duncan Banks was calling to cancel their appointment.

  “Hello, Justine, this is Big Al. My sister is your real estate agent, and she tells me you’re changing your life, selling your house, and leaving Alexandria for DC. Can’t say I blame you, honey. How about doing that column I’ve been pestering you about?”

  “Oh, Al. It’s great to hear from you. Just because I wrote a gossip column for The Hill Top when we were at Howard U doesn’t mean I can write a column for the lovelorn.”

  “’Course you can, babe. You’ve got two degrees in psychology and plenty of horse sense. How about it?”

  “How much of my time will that take?”

  “Practically none. Three columns a week. For each one, you answer a minimum of three letters and write some family values stuff. You say the word, I’ll put the notice in tomorrow, and bingo. End of the week you’ll have dozens of letters. Just give me a P.O. box number.” She thought for a second. She needed time to consider the risks. “I like the idea right now. Who knows, I may someday be syndicated. Tell you tomorrow.”

  “Two things. You’ll be Aunt Mariah, and you will not tell anybody—I mean not one soul on earth—that you write that column. We gotta have secrecy. Otherwise, it’ll be a total flop. Call me tomorrow before ten. See ya.”

  Justine walked on liquid legs to her car, got behind the wheel, and slumped against it. She had to go through with it. No matter what conditions she found or what she faced, she had to do it. She had to be with her child. She had read Duncan Banks’s columns. Who hadn’t? But she’d never seen him. Please God, don’t let him be a slob, but the smiling, happy man she’d seen leaving the clinic that day carrying a newborn baby. Her shaking fingers stuck the key in the ignition, and she didn’t know how she did it, but she managed to release the brake. “Mind over matter,” she repeated aloud.

  The drive along the Shirley Memorial Highway, over the Fourteenth Street Bridge, and on up Sixteenth Street didn’t soothe her nerves. Horns honked, drivers darted in and out of lanes breaking traffic rules, but she managed to keep her wits until she turned into Primrose Street at the edge of Maryland and stopped. Her nerves rioted throughout her body. She sat in the car until she could control the trembling that shot through her, m
aking her skin crawl and her teeth chatter. In minutes she would see her child. She took a handkerchief from the glove compartment and dabbed at her tears.

  Calmer now, she walked up the long, winding bricked walk to the modern white stone building whose enormous glass windows were more off-putting than welcoming. Trembling fingers rang the bell, and the jitters commenced again. Duncan Banks opened the door, and she stared at him, wondering if she’d lost her mind. He was the man, all right. The same tall, dark man. And what a man. Not that she cared, she’d finished with men. But even in her baffled state, she had the sense to recognize male perfection. And danger. As if his stature and facial features weren’t enough to sabotage a woman’s will, he opened his mouth and released a deep, sonorous, velvet timbre.

  “Hi. You must be Justine Taylor. Come on in. I’m Duncan Banks.”

  She found her voice and marveled at its even tenor. “Yes. I’m Justine. I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Banks.”

  His smile had the effect of termites hard at work on the foundation of a shingled building. “I’m glad you agreed to come today. I’ve got an assignment that’ll take me away from home, and I have to be sure Tonya’s taken care of. Tell me about yourself.”

  She told him as much as she wanted him to know, and she’d prepared herself for his misgivings. So when he commented that she seemed too polished to be working as a nanny, she countered that she was down on her luck and seeking to change her life.

  He raised an eyebrow “What precisely do you mean?”

  Don’t forget that he’s an investigative reporter, she reminded herself. “I plan to write, and this job will support me while I work at it. I know it may be years and years before I have any success,” she added, to allay his qualms about impermanence, “but this way, I needn’t worry about bills and a place to stay.”

  She must have said the right thing, because he nodded and a smile surfaced around his mouth. She pulled her gaze from it as quickly as she could and asked some questions so he’d know she was a careful, responsible person.

  “Where would I sleep?”

  “The guest room faces Tonya’s room. You’d sleep there. It has a private bath and a small anteroom that you could use either for a dressing room or a little office. Did you bring your references?”

  Electricity shot up her arm when his fingers brushed hers as he took the letters that she handed him. His gaze was that of a man who’d just had a surprise, one that he didn’t necessarily welcome. Well, it was time she got some of her own back. She’d been reacting to him ever since he’d opened that door. Where did he sleep? She wondered, but didn’t have the nerve to ask.

  “Do you think I could see Tonya? Or is she asleep?”

  His apparent pride in his daughter gave her a sinking feeling, even as it warmed her heart. He’d never give up that baby. Never. So she had better play her cards right.

  “Come with me.” He raised his long frame from the big wing chair that had no place in a modern setting and headed down the hall. She looked away from Duncan for fear that the guilt curdling her stomach would blaze across her face, and she had her hands full, so to speak, controlling the wild anticipation that danced within her at the promise of seeing her child.

  His leisurely smile only heightened her anticipation of the wonder awaiting her. “She’s wide awake, but she whispers to her bears so they don’t growl at her. I don’t know where in the devil she got that. Probably from Mattie.”

  Her joy bordered on hysteria, and she didn’t think she could move another step, but she did. Icy marbles frolicked through her veins, and she had to bite her lips to control their quiver.

  “Hi, Baby,” his deep voice began when Tonya looked up at him, threw the bear aside, and smiled. “You have company. This is Justine.” Tonya climbed to her feet with the bars on the crib for support and raised her little arms. Stunned disbelief spread over Duncan’s face. “She’s asking you to pick her up? Shy as she is with strangers? Can you beat that?”

  If her life had depended upon it, Justine couldn’t have said where she got the strength to reach down and pull her child into her arms. “Juju,” Tonya said, pulling at Justine’s dangling gold earrings. Justine gazed into eyes identical to her own and, in spite of her efforts to retain her sanity and maintain a professional demeanor, she hugged the child to her bosom and kissed her cheek, all the while praying for composure.

  “Juju,” Tonya repeated. Then, as if she’d had enough, she wiggled aside and raised her arms to Duncan. “Daddy. Daddy.”

  He took the baby, held her with one arm and opened one of the references. Justine didn’t have to be told that she’d get the job if he liked what he read.

  He folded the second letter and stuffed it in his left trouser pocket. “If these check out, we’re in business. Tonya seems to like you, and that’s my main concern. When could you start?”

  She hadn’t gotten that far. “I need two or three days to get my stuff stored and settle my lease, but I’m fairly certain I could be here Saturday morning.”

  He seemed to hesitate. “How do you expect to care for an active baby while you’re writing?”

  “I’ll write while she’s asleep. If an idea pops up at any other time, I may make a few notes so I’ll remember it. Whenever I have to choose, Tonya will come first. I give you my word on that.”

  His reddish-brown eyes seemed to penetrate her soul, and she knew she was looking at a man who relied on his own judgment, who didn’t need the words of others for his peace of mind. “You’re hired. Be here Saturday morning and do your best to make a hit with Mattie.” His grin nearly knocked her off balance.

  “Who’s Mattie?”

  The grin broadened. “If I was sure, I’d tell you. Suffice it to say she comes in every day to do the cleaning and cooking. She’ll surprise you, but take my word, she’s harmless.”

  He moved toward the bed to put Tonya back in it, but she didn’t want to go there and reached for Justine.

  “Juju.”

  Duncan laughed aloud “Oh, no, you don’t. Think you’ve got an ally, do you? You’re going to bed, and that’s final.” He glanced at Justine. “This little devil thinks she can wind me around her little finger.”

  “Can she?”

  His sheepish expression grabbed at her feminine being. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  He kissed Tonya, but she yelled, “Juju.”

  Justine leaned over and kissed her cheek. She had to get out of there before she broke beneath the strain of it all.

  “I’ll show you your room. Of course, you’ll have the freedom of the house. Your friends are welcome.” He ran his right hand across the back of his neck and stopped walking. “My child means everything to me, Justine. I’ve decided to postpone that assignment a few days and stay home until she gets used to you, though I think she’s already decided that she likes you.”

  He opened the door to a large bedroom that faced Tonya’s and was decorated in mauve and violet blue. She would not have chosen those colors, but she found the effect appealing. A king-size bed bore a violet-blue silk spread and, except for a copy of Botticelli’s “Spring” that hung beside a large mirror, mauve adorned everything else in the room.

  “Like it?”

  She caught the anxiety in his voice, and realized that he wanted her comfort and contentment “Yes. Very much.” A smile claimed his incredible eyes, and she had to shake herself out of the trance into which they quickly dragged her. She had to get out of there.

  “I’d better be going. Thanks for your confidence. I’ll see you Saturday. Oh. Do I get a day off?”

  “Yeah. I nearly forgot that. Sunday for sure, and we’ll work out something else. Okay?”

  “Fine.” She wanted to avoid his extended hand, but accepted it along with the feeling that she knew would come with it. “Good-bye, Mr. Banks.”

  “Duncan. Good-bye, Justine.”

  He’d said good-bye, but he didn’t stop looking at her. A hammer began pounding her insides. Had he seen the resemblance? Had he
noticed that Tonya had her eyes? Why was he staring at her? She forced a smile and reached for the doorknob, but his hand shot out to open the door and landed on her own. He didn’t move it, but looked down into her face with a strange and indefinable expression.

  “Goodnight,” he said at last, and opened the door.

  She made her way to her car, got in, and sat there for a good half hour before she found the strength to drive away. Over and over she told herself that he hadn’t seen the resemblance, but she didn’t see how he or anybody else could be so unobservant.

  Justine released the brake and started home, reliving the feel of her baby in her arms, pulling her earrings and pinching her nose. A screech of somebody’s automobile brakes called her attention to the red light she’d shot through, and she eased up on the accelerator. Shocks scooted up her spine as she recalled the soft flesh of little fingers on the back of her neck, the child’s joyous laughter, and Duncan Banks’s indulgent words, “Some daughter you are. Ready to chase after the first stranger who comes along.” She, a stranger to her own child. She attempted to pull out of the center lane, but a honking horn impeded her effort to get to the roadside and wipe the tears that blurred her vision.

  When at last she reached the brown brick Tudor house in which she’d lived with Kenneth Montgomery, she parked in front of it, too drained to put the car in the garage. Sane enough not to sit in a car alone on a dark street at night, she dragged her weary body into the house she’d come to hate, changed her clothes, and washed her tear-stained face. The flashing light on her answering machine got her attention. Her real estate agent had a buyer for the house, a diplomat who didn’t bargain, and two co-op apartments in Washington for her inspection. Thank God, she could put Alexandria behind her. If she wasn’t certain the buyer would object, she’d walk away from that house and leave everything in it except her clothes.

  Duncan stuck his hands in the pockets of his trousers, fishing for change, and toyed absentmindedly with what he found there, something he did when he was thoroughly discombobulated. He tried to figure out his reaction to Justine Taylor, the strange feeling he got the minute he opened the door and looked at her. He’d swear he’d never seen her before, yet something in him said he knew her, had always known her. As if she’d somehow sprung out of him and had found her way back to where she belonged. It wasn’t sexual, at least he didn’t think so, though when he’d opened the door, she’d reacted to him as woman to man. But she had quickly controlled it. A refined woman. He’d give her that.