Sealed With a Kiss

by Gwynne Forster

  His words weren’t comforting. The more she learned of his life, the more certain she was that he would never accept her. His attitudes about wives and mothers were deep-seated, a reaction to unmet needs, to what he had been deprived of and what he had seen his sons denied. She doubted whether she would be able to combat that successfully even if she didn’t have the load she carried.

  “I’m sorry, Rufus. It was none of my business.” She wished she hadn’t asked. The less she knew about him, the less the likelihood of her becoming more deeply involved.

  Surely she doesn’t think I called her to talk about myself, he thought peevishly. “Naomi, I need to know something.” She wouldn’t welcome his questions, but he didn’t intend to let that stop him. He craved her and he knew it was foolish. His head told him that she wasn’t for him, but the rest of him didn’t agree with his mind. He wanted her and that meant he had to understand her, if he could. Getting a grasp of who she really was and what motivated her would either cure him or sink him, and he didn’t believe she could pull him under.

  “Have you ever appeared on television?” She acknowledged that she had. “Then what frightened you off tonight? You’re a competent, self-possessed woman; I can’t imagine your being shy about speaking in public. This has me perplexed.”

  “I already told you. I wouldn’t have been comfortable with it. If I hadn’t thought you’d be tired, I’d have called to tell you that I redesigned the program for the gala and that as soon as we can get full sponsor approval, I’ll…”

  So that was her game. Did she think she could spin him around like a top? “I didn’t call to talk about that, and I don’t intend to. If the reason you backed off tonight is none of my business, save us some time and just say so.”

  “It isn’t. Any of your business, I mean.”

  He knew that his sharp tone had hurt, but she deserved it. As sensitive as she was, she must have realized that he needed more from her than she gave and that what he needed was deep and personal. Well, hell! What should he expect from a woman raised by a grandparent more than three times her age, and a Baptist minister, to boot? If she didn’t know when a warm, feminine response to a man was the only acceptable one and the only one that could bring him to heel, it probably wasn’t her fault. He asked himself why he was quizzing her and why he was trying to understand her when he was going to force himself not to give another hoot about her.

  “Thanks for keeping my boys, Naomi. Good night.” He said it as smoothly as he could, without preamble and with exaggerated politeness, and hung up. If she wanted a completely impersonal relationship with him, he wasn’t about to care, he told himself.

  But he was dissatisfied and dialed back immediately. She meant something to him, even if he didn’t want her to. “Naomi, it’s my business to observe and to be sensitive to what is not ordinary in people and in situations. A journalist finds a newsworthy story not in the commonplace, but in the exceptional, in what is unique. I’m good at that, Naomi, and in my book, you just do not add up.” He expected a snide remark or a red herring, but he got neither.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, Rufus, but I’m getting along as best I can right now. If you want to be a friend, you’ll just have to try to accept me as I am. I can’t make myself over for everybody I meet.”

  “Look, I don’t know exactly why, but I need to understand you, and I’m trying. There’s something going on here.” His treacherous mind suddenly pictured her in her burnt orange dress, and he could smell her, taste her, feel her against him, warm and wildly aroused. She was more woman that he’d ever held, and he was man enough to want what he knew was there. But he wasn’t fool enough to walk into a hornet’s nest.

  “Naomi, how do I fit into your life? Don’t answer now; think about it carefully, because I intend to ask you again.”

  “All right, I’ll think about it,” she promised. “And if it seems that we’re at cross purposes, we’ll just have to wave each other goodbye.”

  She hung up the phone, went to her closet, and took out the dusty rose evening gown that she was to wear as Marva’s maid of honor. She hooked the hanger over the door. She wondered if the two of them would remain friends after Marva married. She took a quick shower and crawled into bed. Marva was getting her man; for the first time, not having one of her own gave Naomi a sense of rootlessness.

  Hours later, Naomi got out of bed, unable to sleep. She was less certain that she could remain unscathed by what was beginning to develop into a heady, deeply moving entanglement with Rufus. Even their “good night” had been too tender for a man and woman who professed to be casual friends. “I’ve written my last letter of protest,” she declared aloud in frustration. “Not to any public official, entertainer, community leader nor—God forbid—panelist, will I ever again write one single letter of the alphabet.” She told herself that she would not allow him to get next to her, then cursed her inability to kill the feeling for him that was steadily growing stronger within her. She thought about how it had hurt her to hold his wonderful, lovable little boys, to take care of them, and to be solely responsible for their well being, remembering all the while that loving and frolicking with her own child had been cruelly denied her. What could she do? What should she do? She had made a life for herself, had achieved stature in the community and enjoyed the respect of friends and business associates. But she wanted to know her child. She wrapped her arms around her middle and paced her kitchen floor.

  She noticed the daylight and opened the blinds. The breaking day on a clear morning was usually guaranteed to raise her spirits, but on that particular morning, it failed to lift her mood. She had swum in darker waters, faced equally stymieing dilemmas, but none had involved a man who’d affected her as Rufus did. She put the coffee mug to her lips and held it there, images of him flitting through her mind. She had to deal with it. “I’m doomed,” she declared when he didn’t answer her ten o’clock phone call. She had intended to tell him it was best that they go their separate ways. Now, she’d have to work up the courage. Again.

  Morose and having difficulty shedding it, Naomi stepped into the limousine that would carry her to Marva’s wedding. The crowd waiting outside All Souls Church created an aura of excitement, but she barely managed to smile as she walked into the sanctuary. The service began, and she started slowly up the aisle. She wasn’t jealous of her friend, but she had to acknowledge her longing for marriage and her own family. The bright camera lights annoyed her, but she tried to force a smile as she felt a dampness on her cheek. After the ceremony, she had to smile through the reception and escaped at the first opportunity.

  Rufus saw Naomi nearly every day during the next three weeks, but always in connection with their responsibilities for the Urban Alliance gala. He deliberately engineered their meetings. He got the sense that she’d prefer to have him out of her thoughts, her life, maybe even out of her dreams, and he suspected that he’d broken through barriers that she had carefully erected, something her other suitors probably hadn’t managed.

  As they left OLC together by chance one evening, he decided to corner her. “You promised to let me know what you want from me, but you can’t seem to decide. I find that odd for a woman with your talent for self-expression. Care to enlighten me?” When she didn’t reply, he spoke in as cold a voice as he could muster. “Then maybe you won’t mind explaining this. Did you know that your friend’s wedding would draw the television cameras?”

  “No, I didn’t. I learned that the wedding was being televised when the lights shone in my face as I walked up the aisle.” Her voice seemed strained. Why would such an impersonal question make her uneasy? He knew she would think him merciless if he probed further, but she intrigued him. Maybe if he stripped her of her superficial armor, he thought ruthlessly, she would no longer interest him.

  “It was reported on the evening news. You outshone the bride, Naomi.” He stopp
ed walking. “Tell me. Didn’t you know the bride always throws her bouquet to her maid of honor? And are you aware that all of Washington was watching when your friend threw the flowers straight to you, almost hitting you in the face, and you ducked? In fact, if you hadn’t ducked, they’d have landed in your eyes. Why did you do that? I’ve hardly been able to think of anything else since I saw it. What were you thinking about to do such a thing?”

  She walked on, speaking to him over her shoulder. “Weddings are emotionally charged occasions; everyone involved is uptight. Be a hero and switch to another topic.”

  He detained her with a hand on her arm. “Do you think so little of me, Naomi, that you refuse to do me the courtesy of being honest? Something else that I observed from that short clip were your tears when you were walking to the altar ahead of the bride. Why were you crying?”

  “Rufus. Please! Why do you think you’re entitled to see my bare soul?” She began to walk away from him. “Can’t you drop it?”

  He stood with legs wide apart and his right hand in his pocket, while his left thumb pressed beneath his jaw and his index finger tapped his left cheek. “No, Naomi. I can’t. I can’t. I remember telling you that you don’t add up.” Her steps faltered then, and he grasped her elbow in support, secretly reveling in the feel of her, in being close to her after so many days. He went on.

  “You’re wicked, fun, and witty, but I’m beginning to realize that you’re unhappy. Oh, you cover it nicely, but I notice everything about you. You’re a puzzle, and for me, puzzles are meant to be solved.” She was far more to him than a puzzle, but he knew her well enough now to pretend otherwise.

  “Puzzles entice you until you’ve solved them,” she countered, “and then you probably lose interest. I’m not a puzzle, Rufus, so please don’t give me your undivided attention.” He was like a bloodhound, on the scent of something and unwilling to back away without his prize. Of late, he’d been delving too deeply and getting just a little too close. How could she tell him that her tears as she walked up that aisle were for what she longed for but could never have—a mutual love, a home, and children? She had to be more careful.

  They reached her car and he leaned against the door, skillfully blocking her access. “It’s early. How about stopping for coffee?” She would have sworn that he didn’t expect her to accept, and her first impulse was to refuse. But that wouldn’t be shrewd; he would know at once that he had made her uneasy.

  “Okay,” she agreed reluctantly. “Someplace not too far, if you don’t mind.”

  He suggested Louella’s Kitchen on upper Georgia Avenue. At the door, he stopped her with a firm hand on her arm.

  “Naomi, I’m not up to battling with you over your inalienable right to pay fifty cents for your own coffee. So, do we go in, or not?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Fine with me. I always offer because some guys can’t afford it, some don’t want to afford it, and a few want something for nothing. So I got in the habit of playing it safe.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to hassle with me about it?”

  She tilted her chin upward and grinned. “I don’t hassle, though with you, it’s hard to resist. I’m not a feminist, unless that means standing up for my rights any and every time somebody attempts to abrogate them.”

  He held the door for her and caressed her playfully on the cheek as she passed him. What man could resist her? She was physically beautiful with her flawless, dark tan complexion and enormous dark brown eyes, and man that he was, he was drawn to her feminine attributes. But for him, her spunk and character, the character she tried to hide, were far greater assets. He smiled inwardly; she’d never believe that.

  Louella greeted them warmly and gave them a back table nestled in a romantic little nook. “Do you want your cappuccino with a dusting of cinnamon, hon?” she asked Rufus, “or do you want it plain tonight?”

  His affectionate regard rested briefly on her time-worn, but unwrinkled, brown cheek before he pressed a kiss to her forehead and sat down. “Cinnamon, please. Lou, have you met Naomi Logan?” His love for Louella was unqualified, he realized; she had been a mother figure during his late teens, guiding him through attempts to achieve manhood.

  Louella took Naomi’s extended hand. “No, Rufus, but I saw her on television in that wedding the other Saturday.” She looked at Naomi. “Honey, that bride had a lot of courage to let you be her maid of honor. She looked great, but you were really something.”

  “Thanks,” she told the woman, “but it was the dress; dusty rose is my best color.”

  “Pshaw.” Louella dismissed Naomi’s modest reply. “Go away from here, girl. You’d better enjoy it now while you got it; youth is fleeting, and when it’s gone, fifty face lifts won’t make you look like you look now. By the time I realized I was good-looking, it was too late to take advantage of it; too late for a lot of things. When I woke up, I was fifty years old, with three restaurants and an award-winning house. But I’m by myself on those trips abroad and expensive cruises, and I haven’t got a single heir.” She looked steadily at Naomi. “I hope you’re smarter than I was. One great thing about Rufus: he knows what’s important in this life. Don’t you, hon?” She gave his shoulder a squeeze and trudged on back to the kitchen.

  Naomi inclined her head in Louella’s direction. “I could have missed that lecture. Is she always so candid?”

  He leaned against the wall and fingered his jaw, deliberately disarming her with apparent nonchalance. “Lou’s one of the most respected restaurateurs around, but sometimes I think she’d exchange it for a couple of kids and a husband or even a live-in sweetheart.” He was certain that she didn’t want him to resurrect the subject of the wedding. But she was relaxed, and now was as good a time as any; you could wait weeks to catch Naomi off guard.

  “Why do you dislike the idea of marriage, Naomi? Have you been married?” And why was she squirming? He had yet to see her lose her cool, seemingly unflappable façade; she didn’t even let herself get angry enough to lose her temper. But underneath that polished exterior was a warm, passionate woman. A sensitive woman. And he vowed to see more of that woman and less of the one that she seemed to want him to see.

  “Why is that so difficult to answer?” he prodded mercilessly. “You either have been or you haven’t.”

  She recovered quickly, he noticed. “It just brought back some bad, best forgotten memories.” She was hedging. Not lying, maybe, but he didn’t think she was telling the whole truth either.

  “Well, have you? Yes or no?”

  “I haven’t been married,” she replied softly, “and I don’t plan to be.” She paused. “You’re probably not interested, but if you are, I don’t intend to have an affair, either.”

  That didn’t ring true, coming from a woman who could melt into a man as quickly and as completely as she, with only a couple of kisses for a starter.

  He regarded her with seeming casualness. “You’re a mass of conflicts. You’re liquid fire in your responsiveness to men—at least to me—and don’t dispute it, because I know it. And I agree that you wouldn’t settle for a casual affair; but don’t expect me to believe that you don’t want marriage. If you’re counting on a life of celibacy, honey, you’re in for a big surprise.”

  She watched his sensuous lips part to reveal perfect white teeth as he gave her a slow, mesmerizing grin. “You tempt me to go over the line, Naomi, and I don’t think you want that. But I’m just a man, and it isn’t clever of you to continue attacking my ego, especially like now, declaring to me that I’m never going to be your lover. This isn’t the first time you’ve done that.” The grin disappeared, and his face was as hard as steel. Like an accomplished actor, she thought, fascinated.

  “Better let it be the last time, Naomi.” The grin was back in place, unsettling her and annoying her almost to the point of anger.
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  She refused him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected her. She wouldn’t have elected to live without a loving mate, but she hadn’t been allowed a choice. She attempted to hide her feelings behind what she hoped was a blank facial expression and to respond in a voice whose steadiness belied her inner turmoil. But her mouth twisted slightly and she shook her head as if denying something unpleasant.

  “If you knew me better, you would know that nobody dictates to me. Judd Logan can testify to that, and I’d bet that he’s even dictated to the Lord on occasion. We can always discuss things, Rufus, but don’t dare me and don’t tell me how to behave; neither will get you anywhere.” She thrust her head up, convincing herself; she didn’t need him to remind her that he had only to take her in his arms and she would willingly dance to whatever tune he played.

  Louella brought their cappuccino and slices of her prize-winning caramel cake. “The cake’s on the house,” she informed them. “And my great-grandmother is supposed to have said that this recipe is the only good thing to come out of nearly two hundred and fifty years of slavery. I figured I had to do something to make the two of you smile, and my cake’s guaranteed to do that.”

  Rufus flashed a grin. “I’ve been smiling, Lou.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve been grinning, and most of the time that means nothing. It’s just a mask you put on to hide your real feelings.” She looked at Naomi, who was observing them keenly. “Don’t let him get away with it. He’s not as tough as he seems.”