Breaking the Ties That Bind

by Gwynne Forster

  “We have dessert,” she said, “and I’ll make some coffee.”

  As he sat with her later sipping coffee in her living room, and pondering the evening, he realized that although it was clear to him that she wanted them to make love, and he wanted that probably more than she did, it was too soon. In the past few days, his strong physical attraction to her had begun to take a backseat to something inside of him, and if he was reading it right, he’d better be careful. If she met his physical needs, considering all of her other attributes, he’d no doubt be hooked.

  Giselda had hooked him with sex and getting out of those chains had not been easy. He had to find a way to cool the pace of his relationship with Kendra without hurting her. He didn’t want to ruin it, he only wanted it to proceed at a normal pace. But would she understand and help him?

  Chapter Nine

  Sam felt that if he could only be straight with Kendra, as he needed to be, they would be able to develop the deeper relationship that he’d just realized he wanted for them. He pushed the cup aside, got up, and sat facing her. Sensitive woman that she was, her entire demeanor changed at once.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, sweetheart. But you and I have to talk. We’ve been moving like two thoroughbreds headed for the finish line, because we’re deeply attracted to each other, but it’s been based on this powerful physical attraction that we share. I’m feeling something else now that is apart from sex, and I want to nurture that in me and in you. I fully intended for us to make love this evening if you were willing, and I’ve been so keyed up about making love with you that I couldn’t appreciate what you did since we got here. When I realized that you’d baked that cornbread, the best I’ve tasted in years, simply because you want me to be happy, I was humbled.

  “This could be the most important thing that has happened to us, or we could exploit it, and it would be an affair, nothing more. I want to try for more, but I want to know what I’m doing. How do you feel about this?”

  She thought for a while. “I’m pretty much stunned. You’re right; we’ve traveled fast and far in a few weeks. You’ve said a number of times that you want us to get to know each other, and that made sense to me. Still, things sort of set their own course. I’ve never had this kind of relationship with a man, so I don’t know the dangers. I understand that you want to pull back. Just tell me how far.”

  He leaned forward and looked at her intently, willing her to understand him. “I don’t want to pull back. I want to slow down. In addition, there are strings that need to be tied and some that must be untied. I’m asking you, does any man have a right to demand anything of you?” She shook her head. “Good. I have no ties to any woman. I was engaged, but that died a bitter death almost three years ago. I’ve been over it almost as long.”

  “Does slowing down mean that you won’t call me at eight o’clock mornings anymore?”

  “Yes. It means that I’ll call you when I need you or if I feel the need to talk with you, and that’s more honest than a call the same time every morning. And I want you to call me whenever you need me or feel that you want to talk with me, even if it’s three times a night. I want us to be open with each other. Can we sit here, play some music, and talk about our childhoods or whatever comes to mind?”

  She put on some Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald CDs, lowered the volume, and went over and sat beside him. She put her head on his shoulder. She didn’t know it, but she’d won more points with him in the last ten minutes than she needed. He put an arm around her shoulders and closed his eyes, contented.

  “When I courted as a teenager, we spent Sunday afternoons in an ice cream parlor. Alexandria, Virginia, had a slew of them. What did you do?”

  “My mama always had a boyfriend around, so I stayed in my room with the door locked. I started dating when I was in college.”

  “Why did you lock the door?”

  “Because Mama’s boyfriends didn’t know what to do with their hands, and Mama didn’t seem to notice.”

  The more he learned about that woman, the less he liked her. “I probably don’t have the right to say what I’m thinking. At least you had some sense.”

  They talked until after eleven. “I’d better leave. We both have to get up early. My dad and I always spend Thanksgiving together. I suppose you spend it with your father. Let’s try to work something out. I’m sure Dad is going to be wherever Edwina is, and who can blame him. Kiss me good night, sweetheart.”

  She walked with him to the door, and he could see that she was unsure of herself. He opened his arms, and she walked into them. With both arms around her, he urged her lips apart, and when the hard nubs of her breasts pressed against his chest, he wondered how long he could live according to his own sermon.

  As he drove home, Sam acknowledged that Kendra’s mother represented a problem for him, and that he had to be careful to put the blame and punishment where it belonged.

  If Ginny had begun to represent a problem for Sam, Asa was about to become one for Ginny. She had borrowed five hundred dollars from her friend Angela claiming that she was due a new bank card, and that she should have it by Monday. Of course, she didn’t have a bank card because the bank had rescinded her last one. She answered the telephone thinking that her caller was Asa.

  “Hi, lover. What time—”

  “This ain’t your lover. This is Angela, and my husband is raising hell with me about that five hundred dollars you were supposed to give me this morning. Ginny, you better straighten up, ’cause my husband’s ’bout to blow a gasket. If you got it now, I’ll be there in a few minutes to get it. If you hadn’t said it was a matter of life and death, I wouldn’t ’a loaned you my husband’s money.”

  If Angela came there, she’d run into Asa, who’d be there on his lunch hour. She sucked her teeth in disgust. Angela should have known that if she didn’t have five hundred dollars Saturday morning, she wouldn’t have it by eleven o’clock Monday.

  “Don’t come over here. You’ll get me killed. I’ll call you soon as I get it.” She hung up and disconnected the telephone. If Asa called and got a busy signal, his temper would propel him to her that much faster. She borrowed the money from Angela because she’d promised to take Asa to see Clarissa Holmes on his one Saturday night off for that month. But she had to take him to dinner, too. That, with drinks and taxis had taken all but thirty dollars of the money she’d borrowed from Angela.

  She’d called Kendra for help, and risked Ed’s ire, but her precious daughter—the wretch—never returned her call. Now, Asa wanted to see the Giants play the Redskins that night, his night off, and she’d told him she had promised to get the tickets—but where was she going to get the money? Damn Angela.

  She had other things to worry about. A good-looking, young man like Asa, who could put it down every time, could get any woman he wanted. She gazed at herself in the mirror, reached in the cabinet for a piece of black chalk, and colored the newest strand of gray that grew near her temple. A hundred dollars for a hairdresser to color her hair! She didn’t have it. With an oath, she swore that Kendra or somebody would give her some money. If she got it from a man, Asa would have a piece of her. She paced from the living room to the kitchen and back. But did he have to know it?

  Using her cell phone, she telephoned the one person she could rely on. She couldn’t stand him, because she had to do things she didn’t like doing, and she got no pleasure from it. But he was good for a thousand, and he would be anxious to see her. But she’d be half-dead after hours of his sucking and stroking every orifice she had with his tongue and demanding that she return the favor.

  She phoned Asa. “I have to leave now to get the tickets, and there’ll probably be a long line. I sure hope they have some left,” she said. He didn’t catch the fact that she’d told him she had the tickets.

  “All right, babe. See you at about six-thirty.”

  She got into a taxi to keep her rendezvous with the old man, seconds before Angela and her husband parked in front of
her building in which Ginny lived.

  Morning found Kendra somewhat less accepting of Sam’s wish to temper their fast-moving relationship. After fretting about it, she telephoned Suzy. “If I had a real mother, I could discuss this with her,” she said after they talked awhile. She gave Suzy a brief summary of Sam’s conversation with her. “What do you think? At first, I didn’t take exception to it, but he’s been leading me to believe that I’m . . . that he’s practically in love with me.”

  “Hold on there, Kendra. Until a man uses those three words, don’t think he loves you. I think Sam just moved from wanting you badly, to really caring, and he has now defined for himself what he feels. You mean more to him than you did before, and he’s trying to protect that. Remember that he knows himself a lot better than you do.”

  “That’s a fact. Thanks, Suzy. We’ll talk later; I have to get to class.”

  From nine to eleven, she sat in an auditorium with thirty other students, widely separated, and wrote a journalistic account of her high school graduation day. She hadn’t known what the topic would be, and she was at a disadvantage, in that she had been out of high school twelve years compared to an average of two-and-a-half years for her competitors. But she remembered it well, because the rain had fallen in torrents all morning, and the sun had shone early in the afternoon during the commencement exercises. She gave the valedictory address looking like a wet rat, and in the evening, she had neither a date nor a dress—thanks to her mother’s forgetfulness—to wear to the graduates’ ball. She gave the tale the poignancy that she felt as she looked back to that day, turned in her paper with her fingers crossed and left the auditorium.

  Shortly after she entered the broadcast studio that afternoon, Clifton Howell walked in. “How’d you like the concert? I hear it was over the top. Did you find anybody to go with you?”

  “It was wonderful, and I took three friends with me. But I’ve got a present for you, Mr. Howell.”

  “Really? What is it?” His eagerness surprised her.

  “Well, I got to thinking that I’m a journalist, and Clarissa Holmes is news.” Howell’s face lost its eagerness and took on an expression of anticipation. “So I e-mailed her for an interview, and she granted it and sent me a pass to her dressing room.”

  He sat down. “Tell me you’re not making this up.”

  “After the show, which was very long, my friends and I went backstage. She and her husband greeted us, served us champagne, and after two of my friends left, she and I sat and talked for half an hour.” She showed him the recorder. “I’ve got it right here, and I’m planning a two-hour show of her CDs around this interview. I thought Thursday would be a good night.”

  “Thursday? You serious?”

  He hadn’t said he appreciated it, and she was becoming apprehensive. “I . . . uh . . . thought we’d spend a few days advertising the program.”

  “A few days. Kendra, you strike when the iron is hot. Air it tomorrow night. We’ll advertise it beginning tonight both on radio and television, and I’ll have it in the papers tomorrow morning. Let’s make it from eight-thirty to ten-thirty, so people can call in their comments before you leave. This is absolutely wonderful. You’ll have a substantial bonus in your pay this period.”

  “You haven’t heard the interview yet.”

  “I’m not worried about that. You don’t half-do anything.” He examined the recorder. “It will play over the air perfectly. This is a first-class recorder. I’ll get to work on the ads, and don’t forget to announce it every fifteen minutes. I’m proud of you, Kendra. You have far more than justified my faith in you.”

  A bit more than an hour later, he put his head in her studio. “Can you read the news? I think Marcie is going into labor. I’m taking her to the hospital, Roane is out on dinner hour, and Quincy’s full of bourbon. Today’s his fortieth birthday, and he hasn’t made his first million. Put forty-five minutes of CDs on.” He handed her the news copy.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.” She had a minute to read over the copy and correct the grammar. She wished she knew how to pronounce Erkowit, a place in Sudan, but her listeners probably didn’t know how to pronounce it, either. She switched channels, read the six-thirty news, and congratulated herself on not having stammered or otherwise embarrassed herself.

  Her phone rang. “Ms. Richards, this is Sam. I heard you read the news, and it was a very smooth job.”

  “Thanks, Sam. I’m surprised that you were listening. I’m not on an open line.”

  “I wasn’t sure. You sounded like a true pro. What did Howell say about your interview with Clarissa Holmes?”

  “After he got over the shock, he was delighted, even excited. He said we’ll air it tomorrow night at eight-thirty.” She told Sam of Howell’s advertising plans. “And he said I get a bonus in my next pay.”

  “You may have changed the course of your career when you got that interview.”

  “Maybe. I kinda hope my career will be with Howell Enterprises.”

  “You’ll have even more to offer after you receive your degree. I’m happy for you. My dad wants to know if you and your father can join us for Thanksgiving dinner at his place in Alexandria.”

  “I’m sure Papa will agree. Thank your dad for inviting us. I’ll—”

  He interrupted her. “My dad invited your father. I’m bringing you. That is not the same.”

  “Sir, I stand corrected.”

  “I’d better not keep you. There’s nothing like dead air to make your boss furious. Can I pick you up at school tomorrow? If so, we’ll get a bite somewhere and I’ll take you on to work.”

  “Don’t you have classes on Tuesday?”

  “I do, but only in the morning.”

  “I’m free at one tomorrow. I’ll be at the John H. Johnson School of Communications on Bryant Street.”

  “I know where that is, and I’ll be there at one. Oh. How did the exam go today?”

  “We had to report on the day of our high school graduation. I’ll never forget standing in front of all those people and delivering the valedictory address with my hair, shoes, and clothing sticking to me after one of the heaviest downpours I can remember. It was June, and I was freezing. I did my best on that test.”

  “I’m pulling for you. Kisses. Bye.”

  “I kiss you, too, Sam.” She hung up wondering how long their careful behavior would last.

  Ginny didn’t get as much from the old man as she usually did, and she spent all that he gave her on the football tickets and transportation for her and Asa to and from the game. Asa’s appetite for limousines rather than taxis had raised the cost of keeping him happy.

  She stood beside one of the big square columns that flanked the entrance of the building in which Kendra lived and waited. Fortunately, a steady rain insured that the minute a woman stepped out of the door she would be distracted while she opened her umbrella. As she had anticipated, Kendra came out and opened her umbrella, and at that second, Ginny snatched her daughter’s pocketbook. But she had not considered Kendra’s athleticism—her excellence at track, basketball, and fencing. Before she could escape with the pocketbook, Kendra tripped her up, and she went sprawling across the sidewalk.

  Kendra bent to retrieve the pocketbook and gasped. “Mama, for goodness’ sake! How could you!” The doorman had phoned for the police, but Kendra didn’t wait. She spun around and went back to change her wet clothing. Before she returned, the police arrived.

  “You’ll have to come with us, ma’am,” the policeman said.

  “Come with you? Get your hands off me. I haven’t done anything.”

  “This doorman said you attempted to steal a tenant’s pocketbook. You’re coming with us.”

  “I want to call my lawyer.”

  “You do that after we book you.”

  Kendra changed her clothes as quickly as she could, blow-dried her hair, and forced it into a knot at the back of her head. If she could get a taxi, she’d make it to class.

  The do
orman waylaid her. “Ms. Richards, the police want you to go down and press charges against that purse snatcher.”

  She cringed, but the man didn’t know that he was referring to her mother. “I don’t want to press charges,” she said. “She didn’t get away with it, and that’s all I care about.”

  “Yes, ma’am. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. Could you please help me get a taxi?” He called a cab company, and while she stood at his desk waiting for the taxi, the full measure of what her mother had attempted hit her with the force of a sledgehammer, and she groped her way across the lobby and sat down. The doorman brought her a paper cup of water.

  “I think you don’t feel well. Should you go out in this weather?”

  “I’ll be all right, thanks. I’m going to class.” The taxi arrived, she got in, and, in spite of the traffic, she took her seat in class a minute before the professor closed the door. At the end of the fifty-five-minute lecture, she could not recall one word that the instructor had uttered.

  When one o’clock arrived, the rain had ceased, but the sky remained overcast, and the rising wind signaled the imminent arrival of colder weather. When Sam drove up, her spirits revived, and she fairly skipped to the car. He got out to greet her.

  “Hi.” He kissed her cheek, opened the door for her, fastened her seat belt, and closed the door. “You’re not your usually ebullient self. Is there something wrong?”

  “You could say that, but it can wait till we’re at the restaurant or wherever we’re going.”

  “We’re going to have a proper lunch. I hope you don’t mind that I ordered it in advance, but you don’t have time to wait forty minutes while a cook hones his skill.”

  “I don’t mind. Sam, you’re such a thoughtful and considerate man. I like that about you.”

  “That’s a sweet thing for you to say. Any news about the test?”

  “Not yet. Three professors have to grade all of the papers. I’m not nervous about it. If I win, I win. If not, not.”