The thing that immediately struck her was what an attractive pair they made. The woman was model tall, long-limbed, full lips, shimmering brunette hair that swung about her shoulders. The man stood slightly taller, with dark brown hair, Mediterranean features, and eyes so light they shone in contrast to his olive skin. The woman stared at Tyne the entire time during her approach. The engagement of eyes made Tyne nervous as she quickly realized she was being checked out and not just casually. Without ceremony, the woman came up and gave April a tight hug and April hugged her back just as enthusiastically.
“Sherry, I’m so glad you came,” April said, pulling back with a smile.
Sherry laughed slightly. “Like you would have forgiven me if I hadn’t. You are absolutely gorgeous in that dress and the wedding, God, was beautiful!”
“Thanks,” April beamed. “Sherry, this is my sister and maid of honor, Tyne.”
Sherry held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Tyne shook the proffered hand, noting uncomfortably that Sherry held on for a fraction too long.
“Hello, nice to meet one of April’s friends,” Tyne said, pulling back her hand quickly, but smoothly enough not to offend.
The woman’s smile widened and she cocked her head. “Tyne. That’s an unusual name. Lovely.”
“Yeah, my father’s choosing,” Tyne said, uneasy under the woman’s scrutiny.
Tyne noticed that the man was also staring at her, his gaze searching her face. He seemed familiar, but she didn’t know where she might have seen him before.
Sherry spoke up. “April, Tyne, this is a good friend of mine, David Carvelli.”
David nodded at April. “I have to agree with Sherry, you make a lovely bride.” He turned his gaze on Tyne again. “Your sister is an equally lovely maid of honor.” Something in his voice made his friend Sherry gave him a sidelong look, a glance Tyne couldn’t interpret.
“Thank you,” April said glowing.
Tyne felt David’s gaze. She glanced at him, met green eyes, looked away.
“I’m going to go find Mom,” she said. “Nice to meet both of you.” She headed through the crowd, knowing that she was shirking her duties again. But David Carvelli made her uneasy.
Back at the table, Sherry nudged David as he moved the herb chicken around on his plate with a fork. He wasn’t hungry. Actually, he had lost his appetite.
“So, it seems we have the same taste,” Sherry said teasingly.
Dave knew whom she was referring to. “What’s wrong with looking at a beautiful woman?”
“Nothing, except you weren’t just looking. You were practically enthralled. I think you chased her away.”
“Well, if she was running away from me, I don’t know why. Maybe she didn’t like your little come on. I saw that hand thing.”
“Hey, I wasn’t hitting on her,” she smiled. “OK, well, maybe a little. Between the two of us, she probably thought we were going to invite her to a threesome.”
David ran a finger along the rim of his glass. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her somewhere before.”
“Hey, most men think they’ve seen a beautiful woman somewhere before. Probably in your dreams.”
“No…” he said thoughtfully. He stared among the cluster of bodies until he spotted her several tables away. She was sitting with an older woman and at least three other people. Her profile was to him. She was smiling, talking.
He couldn’t explain his reaction. She was beautiful, but not particularly his type. It wasn’t her color. He had dated a black woman before, although that experience hadn’t gone down well. No. It was something else. A feeling that was nagging him to distraction.
He’d had this response once before. As a matter of fact, Sherry had been with him that night, too, part of the favor he owed. It had been an awards ceremony for Chicago architects held at the Fairmont a couple of months back. He’d taken a breather, stepping out into the foyer. After a few seconds, a woman had come out of another reception hall almost at the same time. They had both looked at one another, and he stopped, the same sense of recognition coming over him. At first, she just glanced at him, then she stopped and stared for a few more seconds. And like today, she had quickly turned and reentered the room, leaving him alone.
It was the same woman.
He turned to Sherry. “She was there, at the Fairmont. That’s where I saw her before. Remember the awards thing I dragged you to? I saw her outside in the lobby. She was there.”
“Are you sure it’s the same woman? That’d be quite a coincidence.” Sherry turned to look at the subject of their conversation. “You’re probably confusing her with someone else.”
David shook his head, certain now that he was looking at the same woman. Just as he was certain that she had evoked something in him then that hadn’t seemed rational at the time. That he had stood there pondering the same questions in his head long after she re-entered her banquet room and left him staring after. Two encounters, the same reaction. The same woman.
“Probably in your dreams…”
He stood up suddenly, pushing back his chair. Sherry looked up at him curiously.
“What’s wrong?”
Dancers were going out on the floor again. He knew that he was going to ask her to dance. He wasn’t sure what she was going to say. Might even leave him standing there at her table looking like a fool, but he was going to take that chance.
“I’m going to dance,” he said, not bothering to explain.
“Good luck,” she called after him. Amusement was in her voice.
“Probably in your dreams.” Shades of green satin and cinnamon skin…
His breath quickened as he navigated the tables to reach her.
Chapter 8
W hen Tyne looked up, he was standing over her. Her mother stopped midsentence and smiled at the interruption. To the mother of the bride, everybody was a friend today. Tyne was irritated at the incursion and inexplicably nervous. A feeling gnawed in her stomach, and the sensation was moving downward.
Before he walked up, April’s friend, Eve, had been talking to her, or more aptly, at her and Tyne had long ago tuned her out, going through the motions of listening. As she looked up at David, her breath caught in her throat, knowing that he had searched her out.
“Tyne,” he said her name with an intimacy that belonged between friends, not two people who just met. “Would you like to dance?”
She was about to say no, but her mother prompted, “Go on, enjoy yourself.” Her brother smirked, having quickly sized up her reluctance and the dilemma their mother had just put her in. It would never occur to her mother that she wouldn’t want to go.
“Um, I was actually going back to my sister,” she said, looking up at him.
He stood there, his eyes unwavering. He wasn’t leaving. “One dance.” The voice was quiet, insistent.
They were at an uncomfortable impasse. Eve looked on with interest, probably reading more into the simple exchange than was warranted. Tyne had two choices, both of them unappealing. She could either remain seated, and have him hovering over her or get up and dance with him once, get it over with.
She pushed her chair back, and he quickly offered his hand. Dry fingers enclosed hers in a tight grip as though he were afraid she might change her mind and slip away. He placed his other hand on the small of her back and steered her to the already full dance floor. The heat from his fingers seared through the dress, her back, right down to her limbs. She found it hard to walk.
The band was playing “Suddenly,” a slow oldie by Billy Ocean. Tyne wondered briefly at April’s nostalgia. Most of the songs she had chosen were from the Seventies and Eighties. Tyne stiffened involuntarily as David drew her near, but thankfully he kept a comfortable gap between them. As they began moving, she caught a whiff of cologne, felt the toned hardness of his shoulder where her hand rested. Felt a callus in the palm of the hand that held hers still so tightly she had to wiggle her fingers to keep the blood f
lowing. He loosened his grip.
She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes trained on the dancers around them. But she knew he was looking at her with the same concentration he had fixed on her earlier.
“Why did you run?” he asked softly.
She looked up and felt a rise in temperature as she met those green eyes. She couldn’t shake the familiarity, nor the discomfort.
“What makes you think I was running?”
“Because you were,” he said with a certainty that irritated her.
“No, I wasn’t,” she insisted. “I was simply going back to my table. Now let me ask you—why were—are you staring?”
He smiled. “Because I thought I knew you from somewhere.”
“And?”
“And you were at the Fairmont a couple months ago. I saw you in the foyer.”
Tyne shook her head. “Yes, I attended a function there, but I don’t remember seeing you.”
“No reason you should. It was just a quick glance. Except even then I thought I knew you.”
“So maybe we’ve seen each other before in passing. It happens. Now that that mystery is solved, you can stop trying to commit my face to memory.”
He laughed. “OK…sorry about that. I’ll stop with the staring. So, since I have probably less than a few minutes before the song ends, tell me what you were doing at the Fairmont.”
“I was at a gathering of black journalists.”
He perked up. “You’re a journalist?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Well, yes and no. I studied journalism but right now I’m a researcher and copy editor for the Chicago Clarion.”
He shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
“Not surprising. It’s a small paper with a targeted readership.” She couldn’t help the defensiveness in her voice.
“Targeted readership?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Mainly African-American. So, what were you doing there that night?” she asked. She wasn’t going to be the only one answering questions.
“An awards ceremony for Chicago architects.”
“So, you’re an architect. Did you receive an award?”
He shook his head. “No, just there to recognize those who did. It’ll be sometime before we garner accolades like that.”
She saw a momentary flicker of something on his face, then it was gone.
“We?”
“My partners and I. We have a small firm here in Chicago…look, I would like to have a longer conversation, away from all the gala. What are you doing later?”
She had started to feel less anxious during the conversation, when it seemed that one dance was all he wanted. Now she stiffened again. “I’m relaxing later. It’s been a long day.”
He nodded. “Yes, I guess you would be tired…”
The song ended and dancers began heading back to their tables. She started to move away, but he held tight. “One more dance?”
“No, like I said before, I have to get back to my sister. Thanks for the dance, but I have to go.” This time she pushed away with more strength, forcing him to relinquish his hold. Before he could reach for her again, she maneuvered away from him, leaving him on the dance floor alone.
She didn’t turn to see whether he was staring after her. She knew that he was. She passed her mother’s table and headed straight for the dais, knowing that he wouldn’t follow her there. She would stay there all evening if she had to, tending to April. Waiting for him to leave.
He and Sherry left shortly after his dance with Tyne.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Sherry said midway during the ride.
“Don’t feel like talking.” He had barely spoken since leaving the reception, and he felt his mood going from bad to worse.
“She shot you down, huh?”
His throat tightened at the told-you-so tone. She had that damned lilt, which irritated him.
“Like I said…” an edge in his voice. His fingers tightened around the wheel, as though closing around someone’s neck.
Sherry shut up for the rest of the ride. Though, at times, she peeked over, trying to read him. But even if she had asked what was going on, he couldn’t have told her because he didn’t know himself. Disparate emotions fought for prominence. Dissatisfaction. Frustration. Anger. Not least of all, desire.
He had been denying the desire from the moment he saw her. From the moment when his dream and reality seem to merge. Yet he didn’t believe in predestination, kismet.
When he had held her, pieces of the puzzle seem to come together. The only explanation was that after seeing her months ago, he had incorporated her into his dreams, and seeing her tonight had triggered the memory.
At least now he could put a face to his dream lover. The one he touched at night. Who writhed beneath him, whose musk filled his nose, whose skin and sex he tasted. She saturated his senses, haunted his nights. Yet they were strangers.
After he dropped Sherry off at her apartment, he kept going up Lake Shore Drive to the Gold Coast until he reached Oak Street Beach. He parked in the almost empty lot where only a couple of straggler cars remained. The beach closed at 9:30 and it was after 10 o’clock now. But sometimes couples came to stroll along the beach after hours, even though if they were caught they would get a ticket. The police didn’t like stragglers, who were either at risk of committing or being victimized by any number of crimes. As he got out of the car, he noticed the moon was full tonight, suspended like a centerpiece jewel above the lights from the highrises silhouetted across the drive. The nocturnal setting of sky diamonds usually dazzled him. But not tonight.
Often he gravitated to the beach when he didn’t want to go home, when he just wanted to think. He found walking along the quiet shore restorative to his soul. Tonight though he wasn’t dressed for a walk on the beach. Sand was already seeping into his Prada slip-ons as his feet sank into the surface. The May evening was warm, humid, and he took off his double-breasted jacket, swung it over his shoulder as he continued along the crescent-shaped beach. He spotted a few couples, some walking hand in hand. Tonight was a night for lovers, and he was an intruder in this place of love, lust, or at least, affection.
His first date had ended on this same beach. He’d been fourteen with a desire to impress. Delana—he couldn’t remember her last name. He just remembered how beautiful her first name was, how it fit an angelic face with dark curls. They had come here after hours, too, after seeing a movie. They had missed their curfews so, of course, her parents had balked. His mother hadn’t seemed worried though. Growing up, there were times when she was inordinately calm despite circumstances, as though she knew everything was going to be all right. She was uncanny that way.
Damn! He had forgotten to return her calls from last week. She probably thought he was trying to avoid her. He’d have to stop by for a visit by way of an apology.
He was trying to remember something. A name. He stopped, and it came to him. The Clarion. No, the Chicago Clarion. He would look up the number when he got home.
Though he didn’t know what he would do with the information. She obviously didn’t want to hear from him. But he was up for the challenge.
As he walked, a breeze shored up. He thought he heard a whisper on the wind. Rachel?
New York—June 1879
Rachel Chase smiled to herself. The children, a collection of barely contained excitement, were champing at their bits, their faces eager as they watched the minute hand making its final rotation to the three o’clock mark. She had dared them not to fidget during the last minute of the last class before summer break. And they were trying hard to keep still. Yet she amusedly noticed some feet tapping, heard fingers thrumming on desks.
To tell the truth, she couldn’t wait for the day to be over, either. Even with the windows opened, the small room was a slowly cooking oven. On better days, she had to keep ice water on hand to make sure the children didn’t get overheated and faint. On really bad days, she held the classes outside under a makeshift can
opy. Summer brought its ills, and winter wasn’t any more merciful when pipes froze over and burst, flooding the building of eight rooms that soon held floors of ice.
If it were in her power, she would give her children the best the New York school district had to offer. Ragged books could finally be thrown away, there would be plenty of chalk for each child, shirts and dresses would be brand new, and shoes with cardboard inserts would be a thing of the past. But these were children of laborers, Negro laborers at that. They considered themselves blessed to have a bit of salt pork with their beans at supper.
At times, she brought food to class, even though Principal Williams discouraged it. He didn’t want the rest of the school to think that Rachel’s class had special privileges. Still, she often snuck in cookies, crackers, and, on occasion, she smuggled in meat and bread for sandwiches.
Rachel loved her students deeply. They were a comfort in a life that had become desolate since she had no children of her own and now never would. She hadn’t been fortunate to be blessed with a child while George was alive, and she could not see herself remarrying. It was simply that her heart had no place for any other man. It had been too hard won by the struggling attorney who had been her brother’s friend and who had slowly gained her affections with a sweetness and intelligence that had filled her life. There had been laughter, poems and gifts—nothing large, but so dearly given that they were beyond the measure of the fine jewels worn by society matrons. She fingered the heart-shaped necklace against her throat, George’s last anniversary gift to her a month before the fire claimed his life. George’s office had been swamped in flames. Even so, he might have been saved except the white firefighters refused to go in to rescue him. Their lives weren’t worth risking for a Negro.
Whatever bitterness remained was pressed down hard inside, stored away in some quiet reserve. However, the loneliness was acute, at the surface, a wound that would stay with her a lifetime. Yes, she wanted summer to begin, but she wasn’t sure how to keep herself occupied for the three months, how to thwart the solitude her life was becoming, even having moved in with her brother, whose company was sporadic and not always pleasant. Of course, there would be books and some social functions to keep her busy for a while.
Again Page 6