She could find her way around Duncan’s house on her own, and she hoped she had years in which to do it; what she wanted right then was to see Tonya. “Thanks for the tour, Mattie. I’d better see about Tonya.”
But Mattie wouldn’t be denied her opportunity to show Justine who ran Duncan’s house. “Tonya’s fine. Let’s get this over with. I can’t spend all my time giving out tours.” Justine saw no junk or apparent storage areas in the basement. One large, wood-paneled room held an enormous television, a recliner, and what looked like the original Nordic Track machine. A refrigerator, bar, and pool table filled a far end of the room.
“This is gonna be Tonya’s recreation room soon as Mr. B decides how he wants it fixed up,” Mattie said, after opening the door to an empty little room with windows on three sides of it. “He can’t figure out what color to put in there. Maybe you got some ideas.” Indeed she did. Soft, pastel colors lifted the spirit, though she thought greens too cold for babies. But she didn’t voice her opinion. She could too easily slide back into the skin of Dr. Justine Taylor Montgomery, clinical psychologist.
“I’ll think about it.”
“You reminds me of some kind of teacher, Justine. Ain’t no babysitter I ever saw talk like you. ’Course, it ain’t my business, Mr. B’s satisfied, and you seems nice enough.”
Tonya’s shrill cry served notice that she had awakened. “There’s the bell, honey. When she starts crying, she means business. Thank goodness, she’s all yours now.”
Justine’s throat constricted at the prophetic words. She had to force herself to walk up the two flights of stairs, when she wanted to run. When she crossed the threshold of that room, she would change her life for all time. At last she would mother her child, and from that moment onward, Tonya would be hers. She tiptoed into the nursery, looked at Tonya sitting up in bed, and smiled.
“Tonya, darling. Do you remember me? Justine.”
Fear curled around her heart. Had that other night been a fluke? She wondered, as Tonya looked up at her with wide inquiring eyes.
She tried again, less confident now. “Darling, don’t you remember Juju?”
“Juju?” Tonya pulled herself upright and lifted her arms to Justine. “Juju.” A smile claimed her little face, and Justine leaned over to take Tonya into her embrace.
“Honey, you must be a magician.”
Startled, Justine turned so quickly that she hit her head against the side of the bed bars, but Mattie shook her head in wonder and didn’t notice.
“What kind of sandwich? Chicken? Low sodium, low fat cheese? Lean, low sodium ham?”
For a moment, she wondered whether Duncan’s housekeeper was operating a health farm. Her glance lingered on Mattie until her eyes widened. It had to be the light. No, that hair really was fire-engine red. Good Lord, was the woman driving on four wheels?
“I decided this isn’t my yellow day,” Mattie explained after noticing Justine’s prolonged stare. “I learned long ago that hair does things to a person’s mood. Now take you. You ought to make yours a light blond or something. Anything but this dreadful neither black nor gray nor anything else these black women walk around with. Make it pretty so the men will notice you, honey.”
Justine laughed. Mattie seemed to have a prescription for everything. “Let Tonya and me get to know each other. We’ll be down soon.”
“Looks to me like she been knowing you all her life, the way she’s acting. Content as a little bee buzzing roses. Never seen the beat of it. That child never did like strangers. ’Course, you do have a nice way about ya.”
Justine breathed deeply as the door closed behind Mattie and prayed she wouldn’t be caught out. She picked up the baby and walked over to the rocker, and Tonya’s little arms curled around her birth mother’s neck. When the baby kissed her cheek, as Justine had seen her do to Duncan, a bottomless well of emotion sprang up in her, and love such as she had never felt for another human being gushed out of her. She stumbled to the rocker and slumped into it, barely avoiding sitting on the floor.
Was this what she had missed as a child? Was this feeling that she would gladly give her life for the baby in her arms what mothers had projected to the confident and self-possessed schoolmates of her early youth? Not once had she felt such love. Not from Kenneth, nor her Godfather, and certainly not from her father or his sisters to whose care he had entrusted her. Tonya cooed and wiggled, demanding her freedom. She couldn’t release her. Not yet. Softly, she began tossing, but tears choked her, and she closed her eyes and rocked.
A nearly unbearable sense of wholeness enveloped her. She’d come alive. The lifeless feeling that had engulfed her and crippled her emotions for a year lifted from her like a blanket of soot dissipating at the behest of a strong wind. Yes. Oh, yes. Her limbs no longer seemed deadweight, dangling from her torso like iron bars, dragging her down. But now, fear curled around her heart. Fear that Duncan would discover her deception and send her away.
Duncan answered his cell phone as he walked out of the Library of Congress and into the unlikely September heat. “Banks.”
“Wayne.”
“What’s up, Wayne?”
“I’m not the only editor onto that case of municipal bribery, man. Can you get free to cover it? Can’t you leave that new nanny with Tonya for a quick spin? Man, if this thing breaks, and I don’t have it, I’ll lose readers.”
“All right. Have somebody type me out a briefing. I’ll get over there around three-thirty or four.”
Duncan opened his front door to the aroma of frying chicken and buttermilk biscuits. If Mattie ever paid attention to his preferences for food, she’d be driven to it by a warning from St. Peter. He dashed up the stairs to change clothes.
“Patty cake, patty cake, loo, loo in the oven…”
“Baddy yake, baddy yake, ooh, ooh, wuwu,” Tonya repeated after Justine.
His eyes widened at the sight of his daughter sitting astride Justine’s lap, slapping hands with her and giggling, her little face glistening with joy. Pleased at that confirmation of his choice as the right one, he walked quickly to his room, closed the door and got into his daytime makeover: gray T-shirt, black cotton bomber jacket, crepe-bottom black loafers—in case he had to run—and dark gray Dockers. He wore that particular jacket because it had a place in which to hide his small, but powerful, recorder.
Duncan stopped in the kitchen for what he knew would be a tongue-lashing from Mattie. “Could you give me some biscuits and a couple of short thighs? I’ve gotta get over to Baltimore in a hurry. If you need me, call Roundtree at the paper.”
“Now, Mr. B, these biscuits won’t taste like a thing once they get cold. I puts my whole self into these biscuits, seeing that you’re so crazy about them, and now you wants to go and eat ’em out of a paper bag whilst you’re driving. And my chicken. Mr. B, if you try to eat my chicken and drive same time, you’ll have an accident. Mark my word. Nobody can concentrate on my chicken and try to do something else same time.” She patted her yellow hair and looked up at him. “Nobody, but my Moe, that is. ’Course, ain’t many men equal to my Moe.”
“I can believe that. Would you hurry, please? It’ll all be hot when it reaches my stomach. Trust me.”
She handed him the bag and patted his arm. “Y’all be careful now, Mr. B.”
“Thanks.” Mattie’s southern notions and mannerism gave him old-shoe comfort. Dizzy as a drunken chicken, but he liked her. At the front door, he looked up to see Justine strolling down the stairs with Tonya in her arms.
“I’m glad you two are getting on. I’ll be back sometime tonight. If you need me, call my cell phone number. It’s on the side of the refrigerator, on Tonya’s bed post, and on the side of my computer. See ya.”
An hour and a half later, Duncan parked on Reisterstown Road just off Rodgers Avenue in West Baltimore, walked a couple of blocks, and knocked on the apartment door of an ex-girlfriend, the notes that Wayne’s assistant had prepared tucked into his jacket pocket.
&nb
sp; “Hi, Grace. Long time, no see.”
“Believe me, that’s not my fault. Come on in. you don’t have to tell me this isn’t a personal visit, though I’m more than willing to apply for the job of unrequited, unfulfilled wife just like the ten thousand other sistahs in this town.”
He let a grin crawl over his features. “On target, as usual. Where do you think I’ll find Buddy Kilgore?”
“Probably at the joint, but not before six or so. What are you doing ’til then?”
He wrote down “CafeAhNay” on a small pad, tucked it in his inside pocket, and prepared to make his excuses and leave. Not for anything he could think of would he get involved with Grace again. She’d been his girl in college, but she’d realized her dream of singing in jazz clubs and, somehow, had gotten into the dark side of life. That wasn’t for him. She’d put that behind her, but he saw her only as a friend.
“Grace, this is serious business, and you know I’m not for fooling around where my work is concerned. You and I are friends. Isn’t that enough?”
Her shrug said he couldn’t blame her for trying. “When I make a mistake, I lay ostrich eggs. It’s not enough, Duncan, but I have to accept it. We’re friends.”
He let go the breath he’d been holding. He needed her cooperation, because she had useful contacts that served him well from time to time. “Does Buddy have a manager for that cleaning service or does he look after it himself?”
“Duncan, honey, Buddy’s got a cover for every one of his businesses; he owns ’em, but somebody else takes the heat.”
Just as he’d thought. He leaned against the door and appraised her. She’d always been as transparent to him as pure water in a clean glass. “You going to tell him I asked about him?”
Her head jerked upward, and she glared at him, obviously affronted. “Of course not. That’s all you think of me? That I’m a stool pigeon? Dunc, honey, you know I wouldn’t do that.”
“I didn’t think so, Grace, but in this business, I can’t take chances.”
“No, I don’t suppose you can. Lots of people are pushing up daisies for trusting the wrong guy.”
“Tell me about it. I owe you one.”
She flashed a smile, but it didn’t ring true. Grace was suffering from a bad case of if, of what might have been. “Don’t mention it,” she said, grasping for her self-respect. “Just let me know what kind of payment you want to make and when you plan to pay.”
Heaven forbid that Tonya should let herself slip into the clutches of degradation as Grace had. She’d pulled herself out of it, he’d give her credit for that much, because most people who flirted with the drug culture and got mired into it weren’t so fortunate. Grace had been raised by a father who’d spoiled her, and she was one reason why he’d go to any respectable length to find a woman who’d be a good female role model for Tonya. A picture of her bouncing happily in Justine’s arms as he left the house earlier flashed through his mind. She hadn’t even cried when she saw him walk out of the door, and she usually kicked up such a storm that he’d taken to slipping out when she couldn’t see him.
He wished he could figure out why the ease with which Tonya had accepted Justine didn’t alleviate his concerns about the child’s well being. Well, hell. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be jealous of his daughter’s seeming fondness for Justine.
He stopped by The Maryland Journal editorial office, got some blank press passes, and headed for Darby Elementary School. He looked around for a parking spot and glimpsed Buddy Kilgore leaving the school. He grabbed his camera out of the glove compartment and snapped the man’s picture as his feet touched the bottom step, and stayed in the car until Kilgore turned into Dolphin Street and was out of sight. Sure that his hunch had been right, he barged into the principal’s office unannounced just as the man began to cram papers into the shredder. He wished he’d brought his camera. With his recorder running in his jacket pocket, he walked over to the shredder, stopped it, retrieved the papers, and looked at the top page.
“What do you have to say?”
“Me? Nothing, Mr. Banks. I’m just getting my desk straightened out like I do every day before I leave.”
Duncan released a half laugh. “So you know who I am? Who tipped you off? Kilgore?”
“I’ve seen you around, mostly over on Liberty Street in CafeAhNay. Nobody told me anything. Mr. Kilgore came by to ask me to vote for him for the City Council.”
“No kidding. Hadn’t heard he was running. And you’d think a reporter would know things like that.”
“Whatever you’re after, man, I don’t know a thing about it; I’m just doing my job.”
“Yeah? Well, next time, don’t trash your invoices. Of course, if you’re double billing or maybe giving your supplier a cut, I can see how that shredder over there comes in handy. Keep the faith, brother.”
It didn’t take genius to detect a lie that thin. He walked out of what the city fathers regarded as a bastion for the development of youthful minds, and shook his head in disgust at the debris and graffiti that decorated the building’s exterior. How could a child formulate goals and pursue them in an environment that consisted of vacant buildings whose windows and doors stood shuttered with plywood? Every building in sight was an example of someone’s failure, and every man-made thing that an eye could see stood in some stage of disrepair. He stopped at the sight of a two-story-high pile of rubbish that small children barely school age were using for a playground. No wonder childhood mortality was on the rise among the urban black poor. Broken glass, cracked sidewalks, and potholes were what most African Americans in West Baltimore got in return for their taxes. With an hour to kill, he headed for Micah’s Restaurant to get some crisp fried lake trout and the best soul food in Baltimore.
At six o’clock, Kilgore was where Grace said he’d be. Duncan sat in a dark corner of CafeAhNay trying to adjust his nostrils to the mixture of dime-store perfume, beer, and sloe gin, a favorite of the locals. No matter how many times he sat there, he always left feeling soiled, not that he’d let on to the owner and habitués; his bread and butter depended on their considering him one of them. He whittled on his egg-sized carving of a Frederick Douglas bust—as the regulars were used to seeing him do when he sat there alone—and watched the school principal rush over to Kilgore. He’d seen enough, so he slipped out of the place, leaving the two men gesticulating as though nervous and excited, and went to find the manager of Kilgore’s Cleaning Service. Two hours later, he had it on his recorder that Kilgore billed the system for twice the value of the merchandise, the principal signed the order to pay, and Kilgore gave the principal ten percent of the excess. One bill went to the school board and the other, a smaller one, Kilgore kept for the IRS. The scheme guaranteed that a lot of schools paid one dollar for a roll of toilet paper, fifteen dollars for a seven dollar box of Tide, and other exorbitant charges. He’d gotten the story, but he had a hunch that wasn’t the end of it.
It had all gone too smoothly. He had the facts, but his sixth sense warned him that more would come. He wove his way through the dense, stop-and-go traffic on Highway 295 to Washington, and in the slow driving conditions, his mind flitted between thoughts of Kilgore and the immediate rapport between Tonya and Justine. Justine’s odd femininity and warm personality could get to a man, but to a baby?
Justine put Tonya’s car seat in her car and drove with the baby to the post office. She hadn’t asked Duncan’s permission to take the child out of the house, so she’d get back there as quickly as possible. The sight of a dozen letters to Aunt Mariah escalated her spirits, and she could barely wait to read them. She parked in Duncan’s two-car garage seconds before he pulled into the other spot.
As she jumped out, he opened the back door and took Tonya from her car seat. “How’s Daddy’s girl?” but his gaze bore into Justine, unreadable and disquieting.
“I hope you don’t mind that I took her with me; I had to run a quick errand.”
“I don’t mind.” Did she imagine a r
eluctance in his voice? “Leave me a note, though, when you do that. I worry impatiently, Justine, and I don’t like to waste my time like that.” The smile that gleamed from his sleepy, reddish-brown eyes would have taken the sting out of his words and comforted her had it not sent hot darts zinging through her limbs.
But she refused him the satisfaction of knowing that, looked into his eyes as brazenly as he’d looked into hers, and assured him, “Of course, I’ll abide by your rules.”
He started walking toward the front door and stopped, when Tonya reached for her. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. When I’m around, Tonya sticks to me like glue. She’s been with me a couple of seconds and wants to go back to you. I didn’t hire a hypnotist, did I?”
“Children Tonya’s age enjoy the comfort of a soft bosom, which you don’t have.” She wanted to eat the words even as they slipped out of her mouth, uttered in a desperate effort to divert his mind from its dangerous track.
Her normal composure nearly deserted her as his rapt stare appraised her. Unwavering. She couldn’t erase the words and didn’t dare try to explain them, so she stepped past him and reached for the front door knob. His hand whipped out to grasp her elbow.
“I take it you weren’t being provocative with that comment, but if you were, you might remember that children aren’t the only ones who enjoy a warm, soft bosom.” He released her arm, opened the door, and headed upstairs as Tonya looked over his right shoulder and sang out, “Juju. Bye, bye Juju.”
Most men declared war when they wanted to fight, but this one gave no warning. She watched his long lithe body stride up the stairs as Tonya continued to wave good-bye to her over his shoulder. Several retorts surfaced to mind, but she couldn’t afford flippancy. She would have to decide how to deal with Duncan Banks, and she wouldn’t let his cool, self-assured manner tempt her into an ill-considered reaction to that taunt. After all, it was she who had everything to lose. Legally, he was Tonya’s father, and he didn’t have to make up stories or play games in order to be with her. But he’d better watch it; she had never played roll-over for anyone, and Duncan wouldn’t be her first experience at it.
Fools Rush In Page 4