A Love So Deep (21 page)

Graham spoke for the first time since Mary had entered his house.

“You are who you are, Mary. A leopard is a leopard whether you change his spots or not. It is that thing within our hearts that we have control of…that we can affect change. Your scheming and conniving still spells Mary Ross though your outward appearance looks different.”

“I’m willing to change,” Mary charged. “Please give me a chance. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. Any other woman would have pounced on you as soon as they saw you as you stood before me. I must confide in you…I’ve never been with a man before. I had hoped you would teach me.”

Graham’s jaw dropped. “Sister Ross, Mary, you didn’t just say you haven’t…”

Mary cut him off, not wanting him to repeat those awful words she had just uttered to him. It reminded her of how truly lonely and desperate she was and how the one man she had dreamed of day in and day out could fix it for her now—but shunned her advances.

“It was partly because I was walking my spiritual walk.”

Graham shook his head, not believing a word she said. “But surely, there was someone who was interested…that could have loved you enough to…”

“To marry me?” Mary sneered. “Is that what you were going to say?”

“Yes, marry,” Graham said, his patience wearing thin. “You are a beautiful woman, Mary. I’m sure if you gave someone half a chance…”

“You just don’t get it. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Why won’t you have me, Graham? I have waited all my life for the right man—you.”

“And again, you may never know who the right man is if you don’t give anyone a chance.”

“It is you, Graham Peters. My spirit told me so.”

“Your spirit lied,” Graham said without malice. “Amanda was the one, and our forty years of marriage said the same. Our love was so deep, Mary, that it would take Heaven or hell to separate us.” Graham sighed as visions of Amanda rushed through his head. He looked thoughtfully at Mary, but did not have the heart to say to this woman all he would have liked, realizing she did not know what real love was all about.

“What about now—now that Amanda is gone?” Graham heard Mary say.

“What about now?”

“Has the spirit lied to me, again? No, I feel it strong—deep down in my bosom.”

“I’m in love with another woman, Mary.”

Mary’s eyes jerked upward. “Your spirit line is all crossed up,” Mary managed to say, not ready to give up on love. She turned and looked at Graham, again, in that lustful way. Graham had all but forgotten that his body was practically exposed to her.

“Mary, I appreciate you confiding in me, and I’m sorry if you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to please me. But I’m not in love with you.”

“But Amanda is dead!” Mary shouted. “And I know you find me attractive.”

“You’ve crossed the line, Mary,” Graham said with constraint in his voice. “It’s time for you to go.”

“I’m not leaving. I love you, Graham Peters. Make love to me.”

Graham jumped out of the way just as Mary lunged at him. “Please take me in your arms and hold me like you do in my dreams,” she demanded, her breathing labored. “Kiss me, take me in your arms, and make sweet love to me.”

“No, Mary!” Graham shouted as Mary continued on while wobbling on one foot.

“I’ve rehearsed this moment in my dreams almost every night since Amanda died, and I’m not going to stand by and listen to you tell me you’re in love with someone else.” With that, Mary fell into a bookcase on the wall that led into the kitchen.

Suddenly, Mary’s arms were in the clutches of Graham’s hands. Mary’s eyes were wild—the glamorous look she came with now gone. Her curls were unraveled, her makeup smeared, her dress rearranged as she fought for Graham’s affection. “Make love to me, Graham,” Mary shouted over and over as Graham ushered her to the door.

“What’s going on in here,” a third voice resounded over Mary’s chant for love and affection.

Mary froze and looked from Graham to the woman who had ventured out of nowhere wearing a negligee that revealed more than she wanted to see. Her shoulder-length hair was wild about her head like a freshly tossed salad.

Rita looked from Graham to the woman who Graham had by the arms, then raised her hand to her head, running her fingers through her hair.

“It’s you, the lady from the church,” Rita said softly, disgust in her eyes.

“You are going to the devil, Graham Peters. They didn’t believe me, but they are the ones who’ll be sorry. I think I’ll go and tell Martha and Elroy right now so they can see for themselves. Then she’ll have to apologize for that show she put on in church.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Graham asked. “That you were trying to get in my bed but found someone else already there?” He realized as soon as it left his mouth how that may have sounded to Rita, and her expression said the same, but he would explain it to her later.

“The Carters already know,” Rita blurted out, the hurt registering on her face. But she believed she knew what Graham was trying to say, and he would have to pay dearly for that slip of the tongue. “In fact, I met them yesterday, and we had a nice chat.”

Graham smiled at his baby. She was truly remarkable.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Mary interjected.

“Well, I’m talking to you. Was there anything in particular you came by for today?”

Mary sneered at Rita and then at Graham. “I didn’t come to see you, however, since Deacon Peters is apparently not free at the moment, I’ll be leaving.”

And then suddenly Mary realized she had taken a cab over. It would be a little awkward asking Graham to take her home this time, but he owed her big. Instead, she asked for the phone and dialed. “Cab, please. Five-five-five-four Chester Street.”

M
ary
sat in the back of the cab trying her best to soothe her wounded heart. She was unable to comprehend Graham Peters’ apparent dislike of her. Not only had she gone to a lot of trouble to make him notice her, she had receipts piled an inch deep on her dresser that totaled more than a thousand dollars to attest to the fact. She knew she was still attractive—fifty-five years of life and time had been good to her. And after shedding those old boring clothes she’d worn for the last thirty years, why did Graham Peters deny she was a suitable mate for him?

Who did that nightclub floozy think she was talking to anyway? And how disgusting, walking around the place like she owned it in that ugly see-through gown or whatever they call it. Didn’t Graham understand that she loved him?
She couldn’t have made it any plainer. She had made a fool of herself one too many times and in front of that straight-from-the-gates-of-hell, no-count, nightclub-singing sinner who didn’t even look as good as she did. And besides, that woman Rita, or whatever her name was, was too thin, and nobody wanted a bone but a dog.

“What are you looking at?” Mary lashed out at the cab driver who peered in his rearview mirror. She let her head fall all the way back into the seat and mumbled to herself, although the cabbie heard every word. “That fine, handsome body—all up in my face. God, what did I do wrong?”

“Are you all right, ma’am?” the cabbie interjected.

Mary didn’t answer.

The meter in the cab continued to click as miles translated into dollars. Home was the last place Mary wanted to be and directed the cab driver to take her to T.G.I. Friday’s at Jack London Square.

Mary watched the rows of buildings whiz by—some were old landmarks like the H.C. Capwells Building that was now the new Sears building and the Paramount Theatre that had seen its share of patrons over the decades from serving as a movie theater in its infancy to housing many award shows, musicals, and the Ebony Fashion Fair show. Some of the buildings seemed as lonely as Mary—standing tall on their cement blocks watching over the city by day and by night; watching the seasons change month after month, year after year; braving the elements whether it was the sun tanning their metal or brick frames or the rain beating down on them like a liquored-up man in a drunken rage. A stream of downtown dwellers moved in and out of shops—shopping for bargains or just out for a stroll—glad that the downpour of yesterday was now only a remnant, although an occasional splash from a passing car served to remind some of how hard a downpour it had been.

A tear fell from Mary’s eye. She felt like a fool, but feeling sorry for herself was a temporary fix and a nice meal would placate her for the time being in her failed mission to capture Graham’s affection. So she hit a stumbling block in her relentless pursuit of the one she loved; Mary would not give up. She smoothed her dress and ran her fingers along the designer bag she had bought to impress her man.

Interstate 880 lay ahead, and when the cab drove underneath, Mary’s excitement rose. Jack London Square was just ahead, and in a few minutes, Mary would be sitting in Friday’s feeding her face with a slab of ribs, her favorite when she dined there. Mary was accustomed to eating alone, although she occasionally was able to coax her cousin Loretha away from her sewing machine to go out for a quick meal.

It was mid-afternoon and not many patrons were in the restaurant. Mary was seated right away and her mood changed immediately. A chubby waitress stuffed in a white shirt and black denim shorts waltzed to the table to take her order.

“A combination appetizer and a glass of water with lemon for starters.” Mary beamed.

The waitress shuffled off, and Mary sat tapping the tabletop with her lightly manicured fingers to a tune she hummed under her breath. Pictures of famous ballplayers hung on the walls along with other pieces of nostalgia that reminded Mary of different times in her life that were good and sometimes sad. But she liked this place—a place where the atmosphere accepted her for who she was, whether alone or in the company of others.

The voice startled her from behind.

“Care if I sit down?”

“Uhh, no…no, please…please sit down,” Mary said nervously, blushing at the same time.

“Tell me, what is a beautiful woman like you doing eating by yourself?”

Mary blushed again and unconsciously patted her hair.

“Or maybe I’ve got it all wrong? All dressed up, you must be meeting someone.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Ford. You’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, Mary. Can I call you Mary?”

Mary looked at Charlie as if noticing him for the first time. He was handsome for an older guy in a rugged sort of way. He must be about Graham’s age, and they were best friends. Mary recalled Charlie was there when Graham and Amanda got together, he was the best man at their wedding, he was the godfather of Graham and Amanda’s girls, and he was Graham’s life support when Amanda departed this life. Mary knew little else about Charlie since he didn’t spend much time worshipping at the church on Market Street.

Now he came out of nowhere, interrupting her private thoughts, causing her to temporarily forget why she had come to the restaurant in the first place. He wore a yellow polo shirt that was unbuttoned at the top exposing just enough to attract attention. The shirt was bright against his mocha-colored skin giving him a playboy look that was brought out by the cropped, short wavy hair on his balding head.

“So what are you having?” Charlie continued.

“I’m having the rib platter. I always order it whenever I come here.”

“You come here often?”

“No, but when I do, I almost always order the ribs.”

“Maybe I’ll have that, too.”

“Good choice. How is it that you happened to be here?” Mary inquired. “It appears we’re both by ourselves.”

“I like to come to the Square, and since I was a little hungry and alone, this was my place of choice.”

“Oh,” was the only thing Mary could find to say.

“You, Graham, and I will have to get together one day and make it a lunch date. We can make it a singles’ day out.”

Mary squirmed in her seat while Charlie’s eyes pierced her skin. She suddenly became uncomfortable.

“What do you say, Mary? I think it’s a good idea.”

“Maybe,” Mary said, her voice low.

“Well, I think it’s a good idea. I haven’t seen much of Graham lately—I believe he’s been hanging out with a new lady friend. I’m surprised—so soon after Amanda’s death. Don’t you think so?”

The air became deathly silent. Casual conversation and waitresses taking orders cut through the thick air that surrounded the table. Mary looked deep into Charlie’s eyes—a frown as long as Lake Pontchartrain crossed her face—replacing the smile that welcomed Charlie to the table moments earlier. What was this man up to? After all, he was Graham’s best friend, and this man knew Mary Ross knew that. Did he know about her going to Graham’s house today? Was he trying to humiliate her because he found out what happened at the church? An uneasy feeling overtook Mary’s spirit, and suddenly the good-looking man in the polo shirt became less attractive.

“Excuse me, Mr. Ford. I have to go the ladies room.”

“Sure, Mary. And please call me Charlie. I hope I didn’t say anything to offend you.”

“No,” Mary managed weakly. Suddenly the new dress, the new shoes, and hairdo lost their luster.

Charlie watched Mary saunter to the restroom. He wasn’t expecting the comely-looking lady from the church up on Market Street to make him stop and take a second look. Her nice shapely behind didn’t count; that had always been her main attraction.

It was as if layers of skin had been peeled back and Mary’s beauty had come forth. There’s something to the saying that clothes can make a person. In Mary’s case it took a complete overhaul from head to toe, transforming a homely creature into a thing of beauty. And Charlie noticed.

Charlie’s mind was racing, and then it clicked. Mary Ross was fast becoming the vehicle he needed to implement his plan—a plan yet to be finalized.