Guilty of Love (13 page)

After they left, Mrs. Beacon looked as
if she had no intention of leaving any time soon. As Cheney flopped
down in the matching chair, bracing herself for her neighbor’s
whiplash of words, Mrs. Beacon sprang to her feet, announcing she
was going home and wobbled to the door. Turning abruptly, she
almost scared Cheney when she locked her in a bear hug with the
strength she must’ve gained from her morning workouts. “You’ve done
a good job.”

Cheney’s eyes widened, registering her
shock at the compliment. “What? No Heney?”

“
Nah, not after the
weirdoes you call a family, and you can call me Grandma BB. You’re
going to need me to watch your back.”

Malcolm tapped on Hallison’s door,
dressed in a black Christian Dior custom tailored tuxedo for the
night’s silent auction. His heart pounded faster, not from his
nerves, but from the anticipation of seeing her soft features
again. She always stirred him.

She opened it, wearing a gold sequin
dress. Her hair was swept up. That meant he would plant kisses on
her irresistible neck throughout the night. Shimmer dusted her face
and neck.
She is really trying to give me a heart attack,
he
thought. Gorgeous. His eyes descended to the dress’ fringed hem.
Her gold toenail polish shimmered.

“
Can I touch
you?”

Watching his assessment, Hallison
tilted her head. “Yes.”

Under hooded lids, Malcolm brought her
hand to his lips and kissed it, then repeated the ritual to her
other hand, chin, neck and lips. The worship was performed
methodically as he knelt and lifted her foot to kiss her
ankle.

Hallison draped her shawl around his
neck, forcing him to stand. “You’re possessing me.”

Her breathy admission forced Malcolm
to smear her lipstick. Afterward, he held her chin. “And you
possess my heart, my thoughts, all my days and nights.”

Taking her key, Malcolm locked her
door before leading her to his Monte Carlo. “C’mon, baby. I’m
looking forward to spending every moment tonight enjoying
you.”

The seduction continued inside his
car. Malcolm slipped in his CD with love ballads. He played with
her fingers, returning to the ring finger.

If Hallison was his cat, she would
meow as she snuggled into his leather seats and exhaled. Her face’s
blissful expression was evidence of her happiness.

When they arrived at their
destination, Hallison was quiet. Shutting off the engine, Malcolm
turned in his seat at the same time a valet from Tony’s Restaurant
approached her door. He twisted his finger around a curl. “Open
your eyes.”

Obeying his command, he edged closer
to her lips. “I want your attention all night. I don’t want you to
focus on anything or anybody tonight except me, just me. I want us
to get so wrapped up and tangled up together that it will be
impossible to let go.”

Reaching over, Hallison smoothed his
beard. “I’m so wrapped up in you now that I can’t help
myself.”

Malcolm escorted her to one of the
restaurant’s largest banquet rooms. The annual audition not only
showcased the best photographs taken by local Black journalists, it
also served as a fundraiser for several underprivileged children’s
programs.

As the night progressed, Malcolm
cherished Hallison with stares, touches, and soft kisses to her
neck as promised. “How can I concentrate when you’re distracting
me?”

She smiled. “You’ve got to be kiddin’.
I’m bidding and you’re kissing me.” She jerked her head around when
the auctioneer described a black-and-white print of three kids
waving from an ascending hot air balloon. “Stop it, Malcolm. I want
that picture.”

The bidding war began with Hallison
and others sitting at three different tables. In the end, the
twenty-by-sixteen picture’s price tag had climbed to five-hundred
dollars. Hallison shook her head, sighing with
disappointment.

Before the auctioneer could finish
saying, going twice, Malcolm purchased it for seven-hundred
dollars. “The sky is the limit for you.”

“
You can’t buy nor can I
accept such an expensive gift from you.”

He winked. “Watch me buy it and you
accept it.”

***

Parke had it all figured out, or so he
thought. He would trade in his BankOne shares if Cheney was seeing
anyone. Where was the guy? After the fiasco he witnessed earlier,
he couldn’t stop thinking about her. “Whew! What a
circus.”

She tried too hard to give the
appearance of “do-it-myself” independence. Today he saw telltale
signs of a yearning. He attributed his interest in Cheney’s house
to neighborhood pride. Something about her had caught his
attention. It was weird because he couldn’t shake the feeling. He
figured it had to be her lipstick.

He wondered about her ancestry and if
her bloodline included a royal African tribe. Cheney could be a
direct descendant of Amina, the queen of Zaria, Nigeria, who in the
sixteenth century, began running the country when she, ironically,
was sixteen. Warriors had taught her military skills and she fought
battles to protect her people during her thirty-four-year reign.
Historians labeled her as “a woman as capable as a man.”

What made Parke think about the
Nigeria queen? Dismissing any possible connection, he reflected on
the housewarming again. It was anything but warm and cozy. Parke’s
family gatherings, on the other hand, sparked instant camaraderie.
They were too busy matching wits in games and conversations to
waste time with snobbish remarks.

And what was the deal with her
girlfriends? He wondered as he steered his Envoy toward the city.
Imani—or Deb—had popped her contact winking at him. “Nope, it was
definitely Imani. She had the best looking pair of legs he had ever
seen on a White woman. He chuckled. “What’s the story behind a
White woman with a Black name?”

He looked down at the text message
again.
I need investment advice for my mother. Can we meet at my
place? 1 hr. Dinner and dessert will be served,
Roslyn.

As Parke sat in Roslyn’s Central West
End townhouse, he witnessed another woman’s attempt at seduction.
His mind drifted to Cheney. She was pretty enough, but she was
tall
. Did I just say she was pretty? Have I lost my mind?
He
preferred petite women in tall heels, tight jeans, and long lashes,
but Cheney’s lashes were incredible.

For the rest of the evening, Parke
couldn’t dismiss Cheney’s image from his head. It was like he was
playing a game of spades and her face was on every card. He had a
nagging urge to see if she recovered from her house-chill
party.

Parke went into Roslyn’s bathroom and
used his cell phone to call his pager. He flushed the toilet
without using it, and washed his hands. When he opened the door,
his beeper sounded as planned. He snatched it off his belt and
glanced at it. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

She pouted. “I was hoping we could
relax while you go over my portfolio.”

“
Your mother’s?” Parke was
getting tired of the same games that even he played.

“
Yes, I mean
Mom’s.”

“
I’ll take the portfolio
with me and be in touch.” He grabbed the folder and
left.

When he parked his SUV on Benton
Street, he almost jogged to Cheney’s front door and pressed the
bell. She cracked open the door and looked worse than the first day
he had cushioned her from a nasty fall.
What had happened after
I left?
he wondered.

“
Parke? What are you doing
here? My party was over hours ago.”

The sadness in Cheney’s voice tugged
at his heart. The puffiness under her eyes did not become her. She
had been crying. Oh man, he hated when a woman cried.

Squeezing his lips, Parke looked away
to gather his thoughts then met her stare. “I thought I’d come back
and check on you.”

“
Why?”

Why?
Wasn’t it obvious? Yet, it
wasn’t even obvious to Parke who was at a loss for words. “Well,
uh,” he stuttered, never having to give any woman a reason to
visit.

Sniffing, Cheney seemed to gather her
strength to give him the woman’s attitude thing—the hands on her
hips, neck rolling, and nostrils flaring. “I appreciate the tickets
to the play, but I can’t go. I’ll give them back so you can enjoy
them with someone else.”

Beautiful eyebrows, lashes, and her
feisty spirit enchanted Parke. He wanted Cheney to like him. Parke
folded his arms. “Are you returning the other gifts?”

“
No.”

“
Then, why insult me and
return mine?”

“
Look, I don’t know what
you’re after, but I’m not interested.”

Didn’t she know Black men didn’t
handle rejection well? “I’m not after you. I was just trying to be
friendly. I’ve got so many women chasing me, I could print a phone
book.” Parke could’ve slapped himself. She didn’t need
that.

Cocking her head to the side, the
resilient Cheney bounced back.
Ah, let the battle begin.
She
seemed two seconds from going off on him, so why was he
smiling?

“
Let me introduce myself.
I’m the new millennium woman.” Fiery darts flashed from her eyes.
“I’m realistic enough to know every woman will not marry.” Cheney
pointed to herself. “I’m one of them because I’m too intelligent,
confident, and independent—”

“
And you’re kinda
pretty.”

“
We’re in the middle of a
disagreement. You aren’t supposed to be such a contradiction.”
Cheney puffed out her cheeks like she was about to blow up a
balloon then clenched her teeth. “Men like you see beauty in women
of other races before you’ll appreciate the richness of the brown
beauties.

“
I don’t get it, but I’ve
accepted that sometimes it’s best to be without a man rather than
have a husband who is cheating on you with other men. We had to
worry about the other woman. Today, sisters are competing with
another man. Black women are the fastest growing group infected
with HIV/AIDS because often our men fall short.”

Parke held up his hands in confusion.
“Whoa, how did we get from going to see
Bubbling Brown Sugar
to sisters with AIDS?”

Taking a deep breath, Cheney ran out
of steam. “The bottom line is—” Cheney shook her head, chuckling.
“I can’t remember my argument.”

“
You wouldn’t make a good
lawyer.” Tickled, Parke laughed so loud, Mrs. Beacon’s porch light
flickered on and then back off. It wasn’t close to dusk. Maybe she
was sending someone Morse code.

“
It’s been a long day, and
I had to vent, and you did knock on my door.”

Annette had once told him that women
were emotional beings, and when they got upset, to get ready
because they could reach decades back into their memory bank and
pull out stuff long forgotten to everybody but them. True to
Annette’s words, Cheney seemed to be yanking stuff from across the
world. He better walk softly around her.

“
That’s the second time
I’ve been in the line of your cross-fire, Miss
Reynolds.”

“
I’m sorry, for the second
time today, Mr. Jamieson.”

Getting comfortable, Parke leaned
against the door jam. “I’m curious, and you have the right not to
answer, but I’ll ask it anyway. Who is he?”

“
Who?”

“
What man hurt you, Cheney?
Was it your dad? It can’t be your brother. You two seem to get
along. Maybe an old boyfriend or an ex-husband?” he
pried.

“
All of the above except
there never was a husband.”

“
Let me make a difference.”
What was he saying? Roslyn must have spiked his drink.

“
I don’t need a hero,
Parke.”

“
Too bad, because I’m a
warrior. I’ll make a great friend.”

“
Or pest.”

“
I’m not threatened by
feisty and headstrong women. Go to the play as a peace
offering.”

Wearily, Cheney spoke slower and
calmer this time. “Question.”

Parke tilted his head. He liked
sparring with her. “Answer.”

“
Were you lying about the
block house tour? I didn’t know anything about it.”

“
Yes. I believe in
diffusing potentially volatile situations and the bomb was ticking
during your party earlier.”

“
How embarrassing. How can
I say thank you?”

“
Next Saturday at
two.”

Cheney folded her arms and grunted. “I
should’ve seen it coming, Parkay.”

“
So do we have a
date?”

“
No, I’m not going on a
date with you.” Her eyes took on a far-away look before she bowed
her head.

“
Not a date, then. I want
to have a good time without a woman wanting my body.”

A whooping laugh split the air. They
turned to see Mrs. Beacon on her porch holding her stomach. “Go out
with the man so I can stop eavesdropping and go to bed.”

“
I have a better idea, Mrs.
Beacon. Why don’t you go with him?”