Fools Rush In Page 25

  The woman’s ambiguous remarks unsettled her, but Justine hugged Arlene, for she truly liked Duncan’s mother and knew that she reciprocated her feelings. One more source of pain, her conscience reminded her, and she turned away and walked to the car.

  Duncan packed them in and headed for Washington. They rode mostly in silence, each unsettled by the morning’s events. Duncan was certain that Justine would not forgive his exposure of her beloved uncle, and Justine’s premonition that her brief idyll of joy was approaching its conclusion was almost more than she could bear.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, Duncan stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at Justine, who stood at the top holding his daughter. He had to talk to himself to keep from running up those stairs and taking her in his arms. She’d gotten to him, deep down in his gut where he lived, sticking there like the sweet honey of a queen bee, and he didn’t know who she was. If he’d had any doubt that he’d given her her first job as a nanny or any other kind of servile position, seeing her at his mother’s party, in fact the entire weekend, had dispelled it. This regal, well-bred woman would be at home with kings.

  His mind rambled on as he stood there gazing up at her. If she had a rich godfather, what about her own parents, who had to have been in his social and economic class and that of his close personal friends; at that level, African Americans rarely crossed class lines. She had kept two secrets from him, and he didn’t want to imagine what others she might have. Yet, he’d lay his life on her sense of honor and decency. She loved Tonya and would protect the child with her life, and he knew beyond a doubt that her response to him was real, that her body and emotions overrode her genuine desire not to get involved with him.

  Her low, sultry voice halted his musings. “You leaving now?”

  “Yes. I’ll be in Baltimore for a couple of days. If I’m too beat to get home in the evenings, I’ll stay at Wayne’s place. In any case, I’ll call you.” He turned toward the front door.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss Tonya good-bye?”

  Her honeyed voice peeled away layers of his determination, and her words pierced his hastily donned armor. Substitute Justine for Tonya and he’d have their real meaning. “I did that already,” he said, steeling himself against his seething emotions.

  “I…Justine, for God’s sake!” His feet propelled him up the stairs, increasing their speed the closer he got to her. “Justine!” He crushed her to him, found her eager mouth, and let himself come alive.

  She broke the kiss and stroked his face with her free hand. “I know things aren’t good between us right now, that for some reason you’ve pulled back, and that’s probably a good thing. But let’s not hurt each other more than we have to.”

  He stared down at her. “You’re saying we have to hurt each other?”

  She nodded, and he looked into eyes that glistened with unshed tears. “Looks like it. We don’t want to, but we will. Kiss Tonya and…look after yourself.”

  She passed the child to him, and he marveled at childhood innocence as Tonya kissed him, rubbed his cheek, and wrapped her little arms around his neck. He handed her back to Justine, whom he kissed on the cheek, and raced down the stairs.

  She had made his house a home. She belonged there. He wished he could understand why he doubted, why his mind had catalogued her as a temporary fixture in his life when he knew he cared for her; she had given him more than any woman he’d known.

  He left his car on Calvert Street in the garage beneath the Roundtree building, got a taxi to CafeAhNay, and took a seat in his usual place, a booth near the door facing the bar. The weather had gotten mild for late November and brought out most of the lunch time regulars. He’d just begun whittling on the little Frederick Douglass statue that accompanied him wherever he went, when Lottie brought him two glasses of water but no flatware, a signal that she had news. He put the carving back in his pocket.

  “What’s up, Lottie?”

  “You been asking questions about the slums ’round on Dolphin Street?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Everybody’s buzzing about it, so watch your back”

  In his business, nothing surprised him. “Thanks. Any idea who I’m looking for?”

  She glanced toward the rear of the room. “Like I said before, somebody’s always fronting for somebody. There’s a couple of our fellows that owns blocks of slums and some white guys, too. Take a look at some of the rundown buildings with mostly white tenants and see who manages them.”

  “I’m doing that. You saying it’s the managers I want?”

  “I’m saying they’re what you’ll get. At least at first. And that’s a dirty bunch. Ever hear of a guy named Kilgore?”

  Duncan sat forward. “I thought he was a supplier for local schools.”

  She shrugged. “He’s into everything, including the horses. Did you want anything? A cup of coffee maybe?”

  So she needed a cover. “Sure. Coffee and French toast. No syrup.” When she returned, he asked her loudly enough to be overheard, “How’s your mother these days? Still shut in?”

  “She gets around a little, but she can’t leave the house.”

  He paid for his order, folded a large bill, and handed it to her. “Buy your mother something nice.”

  Lottie looked first at the money, then at him, and with the sleeve of her black uniform, brushed away the moisture that dripped from her eyes. “She’s been wanting a little radio, and when I get there tonight, I’ll take one to her. God bless you.”

  He finished his toast and coffee as quickly as he could and headed for Wilma’s Blue Moon Restaurant. Wilma greeted him at the door. He knew he could trust whatever she told him.

  She led him to a corner table, snapped her fingers for a waiter, and sat down. “Bring us some coffee,” she ordered, and turned to Duncan. “You wanna eat or talk?”

  “Talk.” He told her what he was looking for. “Know anything?”

  “Of course I do.” She confirmed what Lottie had told him, adding, “Those owners launder their tracks with all kinds of covers, so be careful you don’t write anything libelous.”

  He thanked her and headed for the worst of the slums. If anybody was under the impression that slumlords were bigots who victimized the African-American poor alone, let him think again. They victimized all the poor, race and ethnicity notwithstanding, and with equal disdain for the quality of human life. Broken glass, graffiti, litter, and ugliness greeted his eyes wherever he went. Living Hell.

  Near the end of a long day, he had two names; Hugh Pickford and Buddy Kilgore. He wasn’t far from Grace’s apartment, so he used his cell phone and called her. “Mind if I drop by for a few minutes?”

  “You didn’t have to ask. I’m here.”

  When he got to her place, he asked her whether she knew an agent/manager of the building that faced the one in which she’d previously lived. She told him of a man named Cap.

  “He plays low down, Dunc, and he’s got eyes and ears everywhere, so you watch out.”

  He thanked her and left before she had a chance to try pulling him back into her life. It was seven forty-five and he hadn’t even had a good lunch. He got in his car and drove to Wayne’s pied-à-terre, a large, well-furnished one-room apartment that Wayne used when he had to spend a night in Baltimore. He let himself in, pulled off his jacket and sweater, sat on the edge of the long leather hide-a-bed sofa, and telephoned Justine.

  “I’ve had a grueling day, so I’m staying over at Wayne’s place tonight. I’ll try to get home late tomorrow. How…how are you?”

  “We’re okay. Tonya’s gone crazy over that piano. Every time I tried to work, she sang piano, and if I ignored her, she screamed it. I think I may have created a piano monster.”

  He chucked with pride. “Does she try to play it?”

  “With all ten fingers, and she sings while she plays or, rather, bangs.”

  “I’ll be darned. Will she let you play for her?”

  “Strangely, y
es. When I get tired of the noise, I move her hands and play a sonata or some eight-to-the-bar.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Boogie-woogie. Where’ve you been? Anyhow, she loves it and doesn’t make a sound. Any progress today?”

  “Yeah, but it’s slow going. Did you get another crank call?”

  “One. He didn’t say anything, though.”

  Maybe he should have gone home. The man could know his movements. “Don’t answer the door tonight and turn on the answering machine. If you don’t know who’s calling, don’t pick up. Next week I’m going to install caller I.D. You okay otherwise?”

  “I’m fine, Duncan.”

  What else could she say? He hung up and telephoned his sister.

  “Banks.”

  “I was hoping Wayne would break you of that. You’re a girl, for heaven’s sake.”

  “I’m a woman, for heaven’s sake, and don’t think he doesn’t try.”

  “At least you don’t complain when he calls you Leah.”

  “Make sense, Duncan. It’s Leah or nothing, so I answer to Leah.”

  “It’s like that, is it?”

  “He’s wonderful, Duncan. I’m never going to let him go. Never. I’m so happy when I’m with him.”

  He could not believe what he heard. He had thought she’d enjoy a short fling with a man she could trust, but she’d maintained from the beginning that Wayne was the man for her. “How were you so certain that he’s the one?”

  “I was with Melissa a couple of years ago and overheard him telling another man his views on life, women, and family in that wonderful voice of his, and then I looked at him and something happened to me.”

  “What about him?”

  “He didn’t see me. Melissa told me who he was. When I met him at your house, I flipped.”

  The way he’d reacted to Justine? “How’s it going?”

  “We are getting closer, and I’m settling down kinda, because he said he cares for me, and wants me to…well…be like you said.”

  “And are you?”

  “Duncan, you know a leopard doesn’t change its spots. I told him I’m trying, and he accepts that. Why should I stop being me?” He heard her pull air through her teeth. “I like me just like I am.”

  He had never been able to resist needling her. “Sure, but you’re willing to tone down for old Wayne. Way to go, man. How’s Mama?”

  “She’s okay. Whatta you know? She flipped over Justine. Says there is something special about her.”

  He knew that, but at times he wondered what it was. “She’s right about that. I’m signing off.”

  Peals of laughter came through the wire. “Sure you are. You can grill me about Wayne, but if I mention Justine, you don’t want to hear it. Get used to it, bro, Justine is your destiny.”

  “So you’re a psychic now. Don’t forget you promised to go to the Kennedy Center honors gala with me.”

  “How could I? I’m getting a new evening gown, split up the sides to—”

  He couldn’t help laughing. “I know better than that.”

  He hung up, heated one of Wayne’s frozen pizzas in the microwave, got a bottle of pilsner, propped his feet on the coffee table, and watched CNN’s nightly news. He had put his finger on the switch to turn off the TV, when Arnold Taylor of the Virginia House of Delegates was heard to say, “Rent control is an abomination. Our maintenance costs escalate yearly, and we’re stuck with these low rents.”

  The camera roamed over a block of tenements in the nation’s capital.

  “But, sir,” the reporter countered, “these houses haven’t been maintained in twenty years.”

  Duncan jumped to his feet. Mitch and Rags lived in that building. Who was Arnold Taylor? He ran his left hand over his tight curls, mentally reaching for an explanation that was on the edge of his consciousness and that had been there before, always eluding him. He wasn’t after conditions in Washington, he reminded himself as he sat down to finish his pizza. Baltimore was his purview.

  He wrote up the day’s notes, cleared off his tape recorder, and got in bed, but whenever he closed his eyes, Justine danced before him, a vision in a red silk kimono with beautiful brown skin and large grayish-brown eyes. He fell over on his belly and permitted himself a groan to release the tension. But she wouldn’t leave him. After two hours of it, he sat up and looked at his Jaeger le Coutre. Eleven o’clock.

  He called her. “Justine, this is Duncan. Pick up the receiver.”

  “Hello, Duncan?”

  “Yeah. You wouldn’t let me sleep, so I won’t apologize if I woke you,” he said when she answered.

  “I wasn’t sleeping, and your call won’t be of much help when I try to sleep after you hang up.”

  He could not say what he felt, not until he was sure of his ground, and he didn’t want to chat. He went for the jugular.

  “Something is keeping us apart, Justine. I didn’t want to get emotionally involved ever again. That’s why I considered a marriage of convenience. But there is no denying that I am involved with you. Something isn’t what it should be. You want me, you care one hell of a lot for me, but you act as if it’s all right with you if I leave you alone. There isn’t a man alive who’s dumb enough to accept that at face value. I want to know why you’re so sure we’re going to hurt each other.”

  He knew from her silence that he was on target, that this was what they needed to talk about, but he also knew that they ought to be together when they did.

  “Are you all right, Justine?”

  He listened for sniffles and relaxed when he didn’t hear any.

  “No, I’m not all right, and yes, there are things that will keep us apart. I promised you that I’d take care of Tonya to the best of my ability and that I’d behave respectfully in your home. Please, don’t ask more of me. Duncan, I didn’t plan for us to get involved, but for me, it was hopeless from that first evening. I am not sorry for what’s happened between us; I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Because of you, I see the world through different eyes. But there can’t be more.” He heard the catch in her voice. “Not…not ever.”

  He sat up. Don’t be a fool, he told himself, but suddenly he had to know. He’d regret it, but he regretted a lot of things.

  “Justine, do you love me?” Cold shivers skittered through his body as he waited for her answer.

  Her voice came to him strong and even. “Yes. I love you, and I knew it long before we made love. You don’t reciprocate it, and you don’t want to love me or any woman. I know that, and I try not to encourage you to love me, as much as I’d cherish it if you did, because there is no future for us.”

  “You are sure of that?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Do you have a husband or a man to whom you’re committed?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “I didn’t think so. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “Yes, but nothing that I can tell you.”

  Just as he guessed, she had secrets. Well, he’d let it go for now, but after he turned in his story, he’d get busy. He propped himself up on his elbow. “Do you realize that if I were there with you right now, I would not sleep until I made love to you? Do you hear me, Justine?”

  Her low, sultry voice caressed his ears and shot powerful signals to his libido. “On this night, Duncan, I’d meet you half way.”

  Eleven thirty-two. What the hell! He hung up. Twelve minutes later he was headed for Route 95 south.

  Justine replaced the receiver and cupped her face with her hands. Duncan was her daylight, her sunshine, and she didn’t want to imagine her life when he would no longer be a part of it. He was afraid of loving her, and he teetered on the edge of it. She wanted to tell him who she was, but she couldn’t take the chance that he would scorn her and send her away. She got up, tiptoed across the hall, opened Tonya’s door, and looked down at the sleeping little girl. She didn’t know how long she stood there, rubbing her arms, praying for guidance, and
calculating the risks if she told him. At last, she closed the door, went back to her room and got in bed.

  She bolted upright when she heard the tap on her door. “May I come in, Justine?”

  Duncan! She sprang out of bed and sped to the door, her soul soaring and her feet on wings. “Duncan. Duncan.”

  She was in his arms. He picked her up, carried her back to bed, and lay her there. She gazed up at him and saw eyes that glowed with the pleasure he planned for them.

  “Did you think I’d sleep in Wayne’s apartment after what you said to me? I had to get to you, Justine.”

  He stood beside her bed and looked down at her. What was it about this one woman that could tie him into knots? “Woman, what have you done to me? I need you!”

  She raised her arms to him. “And I need you. I want you to love me like it’s the last time, as if tomorrow morning will bring Armageddon and end it all.” Moisture streaked her cheek. “Love me like I’m the whole world to you.”

  She barely heard his hoarse words. “You are the world to me. Believe that.” He pitched his jacket over to her chaise longue and pulled his black T-shirt over his head. She loosened his belt, unzipped him, and dropped his trousers to his feet. When her hands went to his shorts, he stopped her.

  “If you touch me, honey, it’ll be over before we start.”

  He knelt beside her, took her into his arms, and gazed into her face. “Are you crying?”

  She brushed away a tear. “I don’t know. I’m so full, so…What I feel is exploding inside of me.”

  “What you feel for me?” he whispered, and she thought that hope filled his voice.

  “There is so much of it. I…”

  “Then shout, scream, do whatever you like. Tonight at least, we’re here for each other.” His right hand stroked her cheek, and his gaze roamed over her face until she wanted to drown in those reddish-brown eyes that she loved.

  “You’re so beautiful, so sweet, and so much a woman. Justine, hold me.”