Magnolia Drive

by Rochelle Alers

  “Who’s the buyer, Aaron?”

  “Some Middle East oil dude bought it for his twin sons who are here studying on student visas. It’s apparent the boys have been running buck wild and their father decided if they live in a gated community with an American uncle sharing the house to monitor their actions they won’t bring shame on the family name. The uncle told me they wanted to move in ASAP, but when I told him the owner had to arrange for someone to pack up the contents of the house and ship them across the country, he told me to name a price and he’d purchase the house and everything in it.

  “I asked if he could wait twenty-four hours because I needed time to get in touch with the owner to see if you’re willing to sell the furniture, because you’d employed the services of L.A.’s foremost interior decorator to the stars for your new home. I kinda stretched the truth a bit when I said you’d been on a wait list for three months. Meanwhile, I had someone, who will remain nameless, investigate this dude.”

  Smiling, Keaton shook his head. You could take the man out of the hustle, but with Aaron you couldn’t take the hustle out of the man. “What did he find out?”

  “My friend, are you sitting down?”

  “Yes.”

  “The uncle and his recalcitrant nephews are close cousins of a Saudi prince. It was like hitting the super trifecta in all of the Triple Crown races. I told him if he’d match the selling price, then he could move in within forty-eight hours of the transfer of his bank draft. The man paid you four point two million dollars for the house and its contents. I need you to fly out here like yesterday so we can close on the house.”

  Keaton couldn’t believe Aaron had worked a deal where he would earn more than half a million in commission. “I’m going to call the airline and reserve a flight for some time tomorrow. I’ll let you know when I’m scheduled to arrive so you can pick me up at the airport. Get in touch with Brian and tell him I need him to be at the closing.”

  Brian Appelbaum had handled the legal work when Keaton purchased the house in the exclusive enclave where the selling prices started at $1.5 million and went as high as $5 million. He’d bought the house on the one-acre lot for $1.8 million and had put it on the market for an even $2 million. But Aaron, hustler extraordinaire, had sold it for more than double what he’d paid for it. Keaton had arranged beforehand to let Mrs. Miller live in the house until it was sold, then she would move into a motel offering monthly room rates. Once the house in Sanctuary Cove was completed, she would relocate to the East Coast.

  “He already knows about it,” Aaron informed Keaton.

  He had to give it to Aaron. The man was always one step ahead of him. He’d teased Aaron that if he’d gone to law school and passed the bar, then he could’ve become one of the most sought-after attorneys in the country. He was just that wily and intelligent.

  “Good. I’ll probably see you tomorrow.” Keaton ended the call, then tapped the screen for Francine’s cell. It went directly to voice mail. He left a message telling her he had to cancel eating with her family because he had to fly out to L.A. on business, and promised to call her while there.

  His phone rang again. This call also had a Los Angeles area code. “Hey, Liana. How are you?” It’d been more than a month since he’d spoken to his sister. Their last call hadn’t ended well—she’d abruptly hung up on him.

  “I’m not doing too good right now.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Hollis and I had a blowup… I threatened to leave him.”

  All of Keaton’s protective instincts were on full alert. “What did he do to you?” His brother-in-law had a hair-trigger temper and he didn’t want to… His thoughts trailed off when he shook his head. “Talk to me, Liana.”

  “We had an argument.”

  “A lot of married couples argue.”

  “It was about you, Keaton.”

  He froze. “What about me?”

  “He must have thought you were blowing smoke when you told him the two of you were through, but when he got the papers your lawyer sent dissolving your partnership agreement he went berserk. He wanted me to call and try to convince you to reconsider. I told him it was his fault because he should’ve known when to back off and then the proverbial shit hit the fan. He started screaming and throwing things, so I packed up the kids and checked into a hotel.”

  Pressing his fist to his mouth, Keaton counted slowly to five. “You should’ve called the police and they would’ve made him leave the house to ensure the safety of you and the kids. I’m coming out there tomorrow to take care of some business. I’ll call you as soon as I get there. Meanwhile, I’m going to try and get in touch with Hollis.”

  “He was like a wild man, Keaton.”

  “He’s nothing more than a spoiled brat who can’t get his way. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

  Liana’s sniffles came through the earpiece. “Daddy told me not to marry him.”

  This disclosure came as a shock to Keaton. He’d had no inkling that his father had disapproved of his future son-in-law. Liana had met Hollis when both attended Stanford University. They’d dated off and on for several years, lost touch with each other, and then were reunited at a party hosted by a mutual friend. Hollis Orman proposed four months after they reunited and they were married in a lavish wedding ceremony in one of Pittsburgh’s oldest African American churches, followed by a reception on the lawn of an elegant country club boasting Japanese-inspired footbridges and ponds filled with water lilies.

  “Why?”

  “He witnessed Hollis yelling at his mother over the phone. He said if Hollis disrespected his mother, then he would disrespect his wife. I shrugged it off because his mother is such a witch. It’s apparent Daddy’s prediction came true.”

  Keaton attempted to process what his sister had just told him. If his father had mentioned the incident perhaps he, too, would’ve dissuaded Liana from marrying the banker. “Do you need money?”

  Liana laughed. “I don’t think so. Before I checked into the hotel I stopped by the bank and closed out our joint account, transferring the money to one I’d set up for the children. Hollis can pitch a fit but there’s nothing he can do about it. This account is the only one we have that doesn’t require two signatures. And if my husband decides to come after me, I will take out a restraining order.”

  “I know Kari and Jonathan are still in school, but if the house here was ready I’d tell you to come and live with me until you decide what you want to do.”

  “I spoke to Mom just before I called you and she’s begging me to move back to Pittsburgh. I told her that I have to check with a lawyer to see if I can legally take the kids out of the state.”

  “They’re your children, Liana. You and Hollis are co-parenting, so if he wanted to he could take the children and move out of the state and wouldn’t be charged with kidnapping. That only applies where there is a custody ruling.”

  “I didn’t think of that. I have to go back to the house to get their immunization papers and other documents I’ll need if I want to enroll them in school in Pennsylvania.”

  “Don’t go back until I get there. I’ll go with you.”

  “No, Keaton. I don’t want you involved in this. It will be like pouring gasoline on a fire.”

  “It’s too late. I became involved the moment you called me. You’re my baby sister. Haven’t I always promised to take care of you?”

  “Yes, you have,” came Liana’s plaintive reply.

  “Then let me handle this my way.”

  Ten minutes later Keaton was still fuming while he paced the length of his bedroom in the boardinghouse. He’d always been one to turn the other cheek or walk away in a confrontation, but he drew the line when it came to his sister. Liana, three years his junior, had followed him everywhere as a child. She may have been an annoyance but he always made time for her.

  Boys in their neighborhood learned quickly not to mess over the Grace girl or they would have to deal with her big broth
er. The first time was when ten-year-old Liana came home crying because a neighbor’s teenage son had touched her inappropriately. Keaton had faced down both father and son, who vehemently accused Liana of lying. It ended only when Scott Grace warned his neighbor to keep his son away from his daughter or he would have him arrested for attempted rape. Scott wasn’t issuing an idle threat, because his brother-in-law happened to be the police commissioner. Several months later the fifteen-year-old was arrested and charged with sexual assault on another prepubescent girl. Within a month of the boy entering a juvenile detention center his parents sold their house and moved away.

  Flopping down on the bed, Keaton stared up at the shadows on the ceiling. Every time he was confronted with a crisis in his life it involved a woman. First there was Jade and now it was Liana. He planned to talk to his brother-in-law and hopefully resolve the problem between him and his wife amicably. He’d witnessed the fallout of ugly divorces when a few of his friends’ parents decided to end their marriages. There were no winners, but he always felt the children suffered the greatest loss.

  He knew that was one of the reasons he’d been so reluctant to marry. His mother had called him selfish, thinking that he just didn’t want to share his life with a woman. Keaton wanted to tell Sophia Grace that she was wrong. If he found a woman who respected his solitary nature and understood his ambition to make movies, then he was willing to share his life and future with her. Making films for black actors was much harder. He wanted Grace Lowcountry to tear down the barriers, specifically those faced by actresses of color—some of whom had to wait years for a role to showcase their talent.

  His gaze shifted to the three scripts on the table with his laptop and printer. There had been a time when he was tempted to send them out to major film companies. Each time he made the attempt something stopped him. He wasn’t a superstitious person, but when he discussed the possibility of setting up his own production company with Devon she’d championed his idea. The more he thought about it the more it became a reality in his mind. Why work that hard for someone else when he could put in all of the effort for himself?

  Keaton wasn’t looking forward to flying to L.A. If he’d given Devon power of attorney to close on the L.A. property, then he would be able to remain on Cavanaugh Island. But there was also the problem with his sister and brother-in-law. Thankfully he would have to make only one trip to resolve both issues.

  He didn’t want to think about not seeing Francine. It was as if he’d stepped back in time when he sat in the audience transfixed by her riveting performance. When the curtain had come down for the last and final time he hadn’t been able to tell himself it was over. That if he wanted to see her again, he would have to buy a ticket for another performance.

  Meeting her in person and spending time with her forced him to understand it wasn’t just her acting that had attracted him to her. It went deeper—as if they were connected or destined to meet in another lifetime.

  Never one to question fate, Keaton decided to let destiny play out to see where it would lead him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Francine slept fitfully, and when she sat up the vision that had disturbed her twice before was back. The gaping mouths and unintelligible babble caused her to put her hands over her ears. But the noise persisted. “Go away,” she shouted. Apparently the spirit had listened because the vision and the noise suddenly stopped. Combing her fingers through her hair she held it off her moist forehead.

  Who, she mused, or what was the cause of all of the commotion in her vision? She didn’t believe it had anything to do with the Beauty Box. Alice’s campaign manager had set up a poster on an easel in the salon’s plate-glass window and he’d left a basket with campaign buttons on the receptionist’s desk for anyone wishing to take one. Mayor White’s supporters grumbled under their breath or rolled their eyes but very little was said about Mavis and Francine throwing their support behind Alice’s mayoral bid.

  Francine felt a restlessness she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. At first she thought it was because she missed going on her early morning bike rides with Morgan, so she resumed riding alone. She made certain to take her cell phone with her because she didn’t know when Keaton would call her. She reminded herself that she was acting like a lovesick adolescent girl with a secret crush on a boy, hoping, wishing, and praying he would notice her.

  She gave herself a stern pep talk, telling herself that he had noticed her enough to spend time with her. Francine wanted to believe he was dating her because he liked her and not to woo her into accepting a role in one of his movies. With Keaton there were no declarations of love or “I can’t imagine my life without you” as Aiden had professed. He’d admitted he liked her, her red curls, freckles, and long legs—things that boys had teased her about in the past. He’d also revealed he didn’t need her for sex because that was something he could get from any woman. That alone should’ve told her that Keaton was the complete opposite of the other men she’d known.

  Perhaps it had something to do with his age. After all, he was forty-one and that made him older and more mature than the men she’d dated. He’d kissed her and each time she suspected he’d held back. He wasn’t the only one holding back. She’d held back when she wanted to let her body communicate without words how much she wanted him. Each time she saw Keaton it had become more and more difficult to disguise her body’s reaction to him.

  Francine wondered how long she could continue to appear unaffected by his touch and kisses. When she’d returned to her bedroom after their stroll along the beach every nerve in her body screamed for release. The memory of Keaton’s erection pressed against her bottom surfaced without warning and the pulsing sensations between her legs tortured her relentlessly, like icy pellets hitting her exposed skin. Francine had to wait for them to subside before she stripped off her clothes and stepped in the shower stall. She continued the torture when she stood under a spray of cold water for a full minute, then adjusted the temperature to a comfortable level, refusing to look at her reflection in a full-length mirror as she patted the moisture from her body.

  Keaton had been gone for nearly three weeks and although he’d promised to call her he hadn’t. Instead of calling he’d sent her one text message. What he had to take care of was taking longer than he’d anticipated. Francine didn’t want to make too much of it for he could be one of those men who felt out of sight was out of mind.

  Releasing her hair, she lay down and closed her eyes. She’d gone to bed earlier than usual. Her legs were aching. She’d been on her feet for most of the day with back-to-back customers. It was as if every man on the island had come in for a haircut. After the third one she discovered Joe Timmons had closed his shop because of a death in his family. This was the time when she welcomed the summer heat when all businesses closed down between the hours of noon and two. The two hours offered a reprieve when she could put her feet up and relax.

  She’d almost drifted off to sleep when the cell phone on the bedside table vibrated. Picking up the tiny instrument she peered at the display. It was Keaton. Tapping a button, she crooned, “Hello stranger, it’s been a long time.”

  His silken laugh caressed her ear. “How do you know that song? It was a hit before you were even a thought.”

  She affected a sexy moue even though he couldn’t see her. “Are you kidding? I know all of the classic songs from back in the day. I even know who sang it.”

  “Who?”

  “Barbara Lewis.”

  “Hey, you’re real good.”

  “Don’t forget I took musical theater for years, so I had to learn the lyrics of all the classic songs.”

  “I keep forgetting that you’re an actress. Oops! Former actress.”

  Francine decided to ignore his reference to her former career. “How is L.A.?”

  “Why don’t you come downstairs and open the door and I’ll tell you.”

  “You’re downstairs?”

  “Yes, waiting for you to ope
n the door.”

  She turned on the lamp, scrambled out of bed, and walked on bare feet out of her bedroom, through the living/dining room, and down the staircase leading to the first floor. She opened the door and within seconds found herself lifted off her feet as Keaton smothered her mouth in an explosive kiss. Francine cradled the short beard covering his face as he tightened his hold around her waist. He smelled of soap and clean linen. It was obvious he’d showered before coming to her.

  Somehow she managed to extricate her mouth, her breasts rising and falling as if she’d run a grueling race. “Come inside before you give my neighbors an eyeful.”

  Still holding her aloft, Keaton moved into the entryway and shouldered the door closed. He kicked off his running shoes. “If they’re that nosy then we should give them a real good show.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Burying her face against the column of his strong neck, Francine inhaled his body’s natural scent. He smelled delicious. Oh, how she’d missed him. He shifted, locked the door, and carried her up the staircase into her apartment. Again, he managed to shift her body as he closed the door behind them and locked it. Words of protest were tucked somewhere in the back of her throat when he carried her effortlessly into the bedroom and placed her on the bed, his body following hers down as he supported his weight on his forearms.

  Being with Francine was enough to fill the emptiness he’d experienced during their separation. The hypnotic scent of her perfume clung to the sheets and blankets.

  “What are you doing, Keaton?” she asked, her warm breath sweeping over his exposed throat.

  “I’m holding my girlfriend.”

  “Am I really your girlfriend?” she whispered.

  He raised his head, staring into her eyes. “Do you doubt it?”

  “I… I… really don’t know.”

  When he smiled at her his teeth shone whitely in a face made even darker by the short beard. “Why are you stuttering?”