Like Slow Sweet Molasses

by Like Slow Sweet Molasses

  “You said it.”

  They left the confines of the car, reaching the lobby sooner than she would have liked and used the courtesy phone to call ahead as instructed. The wait was a short one as the elevator doors glided open to reveal their greeter to be none other than Jason Harper. Angela faltered but stiffened her spine to cover her weakness. He looked his same metro-sexual self, immaculately dressed in his lightweight woolen pants topped with a soft looking cashmere sweater. No one spoke as they all piled onto the elevator with Jason inserting the required key to access the floors housing the suites. She rode up knowing her life will have changed forever for the ride down.

  Each man sized the other up, both jerked back to their last meeting at Angela’s. She read their mannerisms: Chance’s smirk versus Jason’s scowl. The elevator’s occupancy included the three of them and a heavy foreboding silence. They stopped. Jason, exiting to lead the troops to his suite, rang the bell to give advance warning. The gentlemanly thing never entered his mind as he stepped in first to charge right into the sitting area populated with a very officious looking, stern-faced man.

  Chance brought up the rear as she followed Jason in. The accommodations met her approval earning an overall comfortable rating from Angela. Jason might as well have been mute for it took the other man to introduce himself as Philip Haperiski’s attorney. Not one time since their coming together did Jason open his mouth to greet them let alone provide her insight on what to expect, in particular, as it related to his father’s condition.

  “Angela?”

  Her name called from behind caused her to whirl and come face to face with a man not as tall or as distinguished looking as her father. He didn’t smile. Instead, his look reduced her importance to chattel on the auction block, inspected and branded for sale to the highest bidder. “Mr. Harperiski?” He didn’t look ill, either. Just entitled.

  “Come.” He caught her hand. “Have a seat.”

  “You presume too much…too soon.” She snatched her hand away, sidling towards the door.

  “You’re right,” he conceded duly chastised. “Of course. My apologies.” He made an offer for her to sit on the sofa next to him.

  Sitting wasn’t an option for her since that might diminish the thought processes needed to outwit this elitist group. She had to be sharp for this meeting. He might be a control freak in his world. In hers, he was no more than gum under her shoe: aggravatingly sticky.

  “I see you brought support.”

  “A friend.”

  “Brock Alexander.” Chance introduced himself never leaving his observation post at the entrance, ever alert to her responses: audible, visual and perceived. His back straightened widening the breadth of his strong shoulders in answer to the intrusive looks cast his way.

  “The policeman boyfriend,” Philip’s lawyer supplied with indifference.

  Angela’s mouth was ready to respond. Only Chance beat her to the punch.

  “At your service. Now, can we get on with this?”

  Philip smiled his acceptance to Chance’s toss of the gauntlet. “Your mother tells me our relationship is doomed before it gets started. Is that true?”

  “This meeting is just that, a meeting you requested and I’m honoring. Thirty-two years without any knowledge of your existence should tell you what I think of you now.”

  “You hate me, Angela. I get that. The reasons why escape me.”

  Angela struggled to hold her temper battling to see through the red cloud of anger misting the room. “Why? Let me see if I can recount them for you.”

  Her eyes batted camouflaging the severe angst tearing her very world apart.

  “You’ve been aware I existed for over five years. Did you contact me? No. Were you interested in getting to know the person you had a hand in creating? No. Were you even a little curious as to what kind of person I grew up to be? Or what accomplishments society bestowed on me during high school, college and beyond? No, no and no.” Her study of each of the meeting’s participants exhibited in the ice clogging her blood. “We’ve come full circle, Mr. Harperiski. You had no interest in me then. I have none in you now.”

  The short walk to the door where Chance stood guard turned into a mile-long jaunt to her.

  “What did I tell you, Dad? Just like a Ni—”

  Chance was upon Jason so fast the word choked in his throat, stopped there by the cold rage on Chance’s face. “I wouldn’t finish that statement if I were you.”

  “Jason, she’s your sister.” Philip also shushed his son.

  “Half-sister.”

  “Remember why we’re here,” the older man warned. “Angela, wait. Please.” His son’s uncouth behavior would get him nowhere. “Jason, apologize and get the contract.”

  Chance, close enough to read the deep hatred Jason harbored for Angela, wanted to wring his privileged neck. His father saved him from that fate for he moved to obey, not bothering with an apology.

  “Contract?” Angela’s interest peaked. Her bigoted brother slapped the papers in her hand pointing out the part he assumed would most interest her. She read aloud. “Fifty thousand dollars if the bone marrow tests indicate a match. A subsequent one hundred-fifty thousand after the donation is harvested. Fifty thousand if not a match, just for taking the test.”

  The pages floated to the carpet.

  Her under-eyed look harpooned Chance’s heart. Here it comes.

  “White people.” Angela’s disgust permeated the space. Her hand settled on the curved door handle when her biological father called out to her.

  “Be reasonable. You could be my only chance.”

  “Apparently, you think you’re speaking to someone who gives a damn.” With all the grace she could muster, Angela strutted from the room with her head held high, eyes straight ahead and invisible body armor deflecting her name, hurled spear-like in unison by Philip and Jason.

  Chance felt like breaking heads but channeled his fury to sing her praises. “The two of you are living proof money can’t buy breeding and you’re even dumber than you look. The lady whom you just insulted with that idiotic proposition is a first chair violist who performed with a select number of prestigious symphony orchestras across the country. She backpacked across Europe before the age of twenty-three: alone. No small feat for a young woman, especially a young black woman out to live her dreams, conversely, to the opposing opinions of some of society, I would suspect, just like you. With all of her beauty, brains and skills, she chose to provide the children of New Orleans with opportunities that both challenged their imaginations and planted seeds capable of blossoming them into the future leaders of America.”

  The breath he drew at the end of his tirade scorched his throat for he was so very hot and enraged. Hands akimbo wedged his sports jacket open showing a glimpse of dark metal. “You— two—are—pathetic. She deserves better people to call relatives. You’re not good enough to claim her in your gene pool.”

  “It was more than a generous offer,” Jason defended.

  Control was hard to come by as Chance cut him down to size with his blade-sharpened stare while ignoring the constant vibration at his waist.

  “That’s enough. Both of you.” Philip walked to the door as an invitation for Chance to depart. “Lt. Alexander, under other circumstances I’d have the time to woo Angela into a father-daughter relationship. As things stand for me—I’m on borrowed time. See what you can do to convince her to reconsider the offer. You seem to have influence over her. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Chance shook his head at the words buzzing around him like gnats. “You bastard. Keep your bribe money. I’ll see the pair of you in hell first before I say a word to her on your behalf.”

  The hallway was empty when Chance bounded from the room in pursuit of her. He paced in front of the elevator wearing down the plush carpet while jabbing at the button that brought the elevator no faster. Once on board, the button volley continued as he thumbed the lobby button the entire ride down. Chance’s
strides lengthened to a near run as he rushed passed the check-in counter, cut through the atrium bistro dodging wrought iron tables and chairs and streaked near the conference rooms lining the long expanse of hall leading to the garage. He let loose a sigh at the sight of Angela patiently waiting at the car, poised and composed beyond his belief.

  “I need to walk.”

  He didn’t voice the skepticism of her request though he wondered how long she could manage dressed in that knock-out frock and decked out in those stylish high heels. His eyes traced from her footwear, up her shapely legs, lingering slightly on her curvaceous form before resting on her eyes now watery with unshed tears. “I’ll take you home to change.”

  “No.” She resisted the offer backing away as he moved in closer.

  “Okay. Okay.” Briefly, he checked the readout on his phone while performing the gentlemanly act of opening the door.

  The going was slow as he traversed the narrow streets of the French Quarters loud with life as revelers out for a New Orleans-style weekend caroused and canvassed the businesses. Music blasted, delicious smells wafted in the air, sidewalk hawkers hired to entice passers-by into establishments railed against the cacophony of sounds circulating in the area. Chance’s senses repelled the activities for he was sympathetic to her trials. She, on the other hand, looked far and away from him.

  The parking garage was in one of the French Quarter hotels centrally located to the most popular spots. He assisted her from the car with a hand to her elbow. Her passive expression said more than if she verbalized her pain to him. Her fire barely burned, dulled to a simmer and her despair all but extinguished it altogether. There was a crowd on the streets making them weave their way to nowhere in particular. Out of the corner of his eye, Chance monitored her demeanor noting not even the antics of the bawdy swinging lady swooping in and out, over the balcony railing and above the strollers on the street, caused any change in her manner.

  They strolled side by side covering blocks at a time without a word passing between them. He felt he had to do something to bandage her soul. The opportunity presented itself at the next turn in the bend. “Wait here.” Angela hardly responded encouraging him to take her by the shoulders. He had to make her talk. “Are you listening to me, Angela?” Her look ripped away a piece of his heart.

  “Yes.”

  They blocked a store’s entrance moving to one side to continue the conversation. “Angela, promise me you’ll stay right here.”

  Angela gazed at the man who willed her back to the land of the living. “I’ll be here.”

  He shot away.

  Angela saw him disappear into a courtyard establishment ensconced behind a wrought iron fence. She internalized her pain and now realized what was needed to face this bout of adversity; what she always did in times of trouble. To dig deep inside to draw on the character inherited from her mother’s side of the family. She would survive. Experience taught her that.

  Chance returned with a Hurricane souvenir glass in each hand. The thought struck him she seemed to relax whenever her taste buds got their dose of flavored ice. He would try anything to ease her discomfort. “Here.”Angela rewarded him with a genuine smile though it was slow in coming. “I didn’t know if you drank alcohol, so, I bought virgin. Hope that’s alright.”

  “That’s perfect.” She sucked the strawberry ice from the giant hourglass shaped container showering him with a visual “thank you”.

  His conjoined look of concern and sensuality swaddled her curvy body. The hand cupping the side of her face smoothed his thumb over the soft skin of her cheek. She tapped under her eye drawing her hand away to peer at the wetness on her fingertips. Chance could stand no more and closed in for a gentle caress. All sights and sounds receded to the background as he shared his strength with Angela happy she was receptive to his touch. The first idea they were the focus of attention were the hardened, disapproving stares cast their way from some in the crowd. Reasons for such animosity he couldn’t explain jumbled his brain. He was relieved she pressed her face against his chest, blinding her to the unkind looks.

  “Tired of walking, yet?”

  His chin stirred the pleasing fragrance of her hair. They hadn’t moved from the spot in the middle of the street, their sensibilities tuned to each other and not the maliciousness surrounding them. Chance’s faith in society restored with the empathetic smile spirited their way by another couple. His wish was that someday Angela would accept him and the feelings growing inside of him as worthy of her taking a chance on them.

  Something scary nested in the pit of her stomach as she realized her predisposition to judge Chance based on his race was disturbingly narrow-minded. He was definitely knocking down all the stereotypical reasons to shut him out like making strikes at the bowling alley. She loved the way he always showed interest in any subject she chose to discuss. It never failed that what developed was a vigorous debate. Angela had to admit her fondness for the man with the remarkable compassionate side.

  “Chance?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Thanks for being with me during one of the lowest points of my life.”

  He pushed her to arms length, saddened that her head dropped. “Angela, look at me.”

  Embarrassed, she scrunched her face refusing to meet his eyes. The enticement to opening them was the warmth of his lips on her lids.

  “You are a class act. They’re undeserving of another minute of your time, thoughts or energy.”

  “My head knows that, Chance. It’s my heart that cries out in pain.”

  “Pain builds character. Character speaks to endurance. Endurance is the foundation for life. Live your life, Angela, today. Tomorrow will take care of itself.”

  He embraced her tenderly while monitoring the message on the screen behind her back.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Angela was surprised when Chance turned on the street that led to his loft deciding to take it all in stride and not make waves. She wasn’t ready to be alone right now, anyway. Night had fallen during their stroll through the Quarters and now the headlights sliced the darkened roadway, flashed on the rising double-sized door and flooded the garage with artificial brightness. He grabbed her attention as he downshifted causing that deep rumble that signaled his arrival whenever he came next door. She believed it was his way of notifying her of his presence and availability should she need to see him—for any reason. Until today, she’d never taken him up on the offer. Today, she needed a diversion. He seemed more than willing to provide one for her.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he began once quieting the motor. “I had an urgent call and have to get a status report.”

  Angela opened her door to let herself out guilty for having taken him from his work to babysit her. His door slammed one second and he was there beside her the next his eyes pleading for understanding.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had work to do? I would’ve understood.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have,” he disagreed. “Our spat is the reason you would have applied to my unavailability to go with you.”

  Spat she thought his choice of words interesting. “I’m getting it, now, Chance.” Angela started towards the stairs knowing he followed close behind. “You’ve opened my eyes. I’m convinced to base my trust of you on merit and not on race.” She pivoted to see a new gleam in his eyes. “What’s that look?”

  “Pure satisfaction.” He elaborated. “I no longer have to mince my words when engaged in conversation with you. I can be myself and know you’ll accept me for what I bring to the table. Not for what someone else has or has not said or done—or left there.”

  “Have I been that unreasonable?” she queried bashfully.

  “I’d call it self-preservation.” She stood two steps above him putting them face to face. “I’m about to kiss you, Angela,” he warned what was to come, “unless you tell me otherwise.”

  She immersed herself in his green eyes feeling an invigorat
ing rush in her bloodstream. There was no mistaking the sincerity in their depths. He made no move towards her, yet, waiting on her answer. “I’d like that,” was all she said.

  Chance’s hands rested at Angela’s waist as his lips claimed hers, without hesitation, to savor their lushness. So in favor of the move, she cupped his bearded face with trembling hands and allowed his seeking tongue access. A flurry of sensations pulsated through her body leap-frogging to invade his being. His grip tightened matching the deepening of his kiss. Her pliant body leaned into his.

  That was his undoing.

  Angela, unconsciously feeling the changes erupting in his posture, weathered the storm of emotions bursting for release inside of her. She lost herself wholly to the hot surging passion—suddenly going adrift at the loss of his lips on hers. Depravation broadcast in her questioning look as she and Chance sieved through the outcome of their brief but jolting connection. Neither said a word. There was no reason to speak. Heavy breathing publicized the depth of what crackled in the air. Chance nearly exploded when Angela removed lipstick from his mouth by brushing her thumb across his lips.

  She smiled—a knowing smile—did an about-face and marched to the living area upstairs, leaving him lusting after her and tussling for control. His haven invited a sense of security to surround her, one that eased all concerns as proven when she stood at the cabinet she knew held the jelly jar. A yank and the door opened to a smorgasbord of a non-cooker’s culinary delight. Angela spotted just what she wanted—went for it—only to halt at Chance’s irritated yell.

  His hand clamped her wrist as she reached for the peanut butter jar. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?” He saw the look of happiness present on her face minutes ago drizzle away under his attack.

  “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind if I made a sandwich.”

  Chance snatched the peanut butter from the shelf to score a three-pointer in the garbage pail several feet away. After that, he washed his hands thoroughly at the sink before coming to stand in front of her.