Flying High (18 page)

“I’ve been calling you all night. I told Ryan I’d go away with him this weekend, and now I’m scared to death. Maybe Pam’s right that I should wait till I get married. But I don’t want to do that. Audrey, I’m insane crazy about the guy.”

She sat down beside the telephone table and kicked off her shoes. What she needed right then was a Chupa Chups. “Honey, it’s my feeling that you’re talking to the wrong person about this. If you’re scared, the person who should know this is Ryan.”

“What? Why? I don’t want him to think I’m naive. Ryan’s a man of the world.”

“Look, you cut that out right now. Posturing is stupid. Let him know what you feel, think, want and need. He wants to make you happy, and he can’t do that if you don’t level with him. How would you feel if he led you to think he was one person and you discovered he was someone else? You’d be ready to die. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“You mean I should let him know that I’m twenty-seven and scared to go to bed with him?”

“Wendy, if you told him you’re a virgin, you can tell him anything. Pam said he’s besotted with you, that the chemistry between you two is so strong anybody can see it with the naked eye.”

“He does love me. I know it. It’s just that I’m...I’m afraid I won’t please him.”

Audrey nearly laughed. “That pleasing business is a mutual thing. Besides, there’s little chance you won’t, unless you throw a pillowcase over your face and lock your knees. Call him right now and tell him you can’t wait for the weekend, but you’re also scared to death.”

“That’s true. How’d you know all this? Uh-oh. The colonel has made his mark. Right on, sis! Hmm. Thanks. I’m going to call Ryan right this minute. Bye.”

She hung up and reached into her pocketbook for a Chupa Chups. There was something about sucking on that lollipop that was as comforting as warm water on her naked skin. Winifred had a right to be nervous; nobody had invented a way of getting a periscope view of a man’s mind, to say nothing of his intentions. Who was she to give her sister advice when she hadn’t been so careful herself? And now she had once more laid herself open to possible pain and deception. What was she going to do if Nelson deceived her?

Logic had replaced feelings. Gone was the euphoric world that had enveloped her earlier as she locked her arms around her lover and told him without words that he was everything to her. Torn between the impulse to kick herself and the inclination to telephone Nelson for no reason other than to hear his voice, she did neither. She went into her kitchen, a place where she spent as little time as possible, mixed up a batch of chocolate fudge and threw several handfuls of pecans into it. Somebody—she hardly cared who—was going to eat a lot of chocolate fudge candy.

Having worked the anxiety out of her system, she showered, slid into bed and luxuriated in the feel of satin sheets against her naked body. Sleep came quickly.

* * *

“This is McCafferty,” the voice said when Nelson punched his intercom button. “Just wanted you to know I’m working on reassignments. You’re one of the officers who may be returned to Afghanistan. Just thought I’d let you know in view of all these other...er...things you’re dealing with right now.”

“Thanks for letting me know. Any idea how soon?”

“I’d say six weeks at the latest.”

As much as he wanted to go back there, he didn’t welcome that news. How could he leave his family and Audrey while they remained vulnerable to harm by criminals as yet not fully identified? He locked his office door, went back to his desk and put on the hard surgical collar that he kept locked in the drawer. Before leaving home that morning, he’d tried the exercises Audrey gave him, and they eased the pain, but he didn’t expect them to give long-term relief until he’d being doing them for a while.

Audrey. He propped his elbows on his desk and supported his head with his hands. He shouldn’t go much further with her unless he meant to make it permanent. But she seemed either unable or unwilling to open herself to him. She could do that in bed, and the previous night without saying a word she had communicated what she felt for him. But he sensed nonetheless that he didn’t know her. He had no idea what was guaranteed to make her smile, laugh, dance, cry, sulk. What hurt her, and what did she want desperately other than a private practice? Had she ever done anything that shamed her, frightened her, plagued her? He wanted to open himself to her that way, but she didn’t seem to need it.

The pain eased, and he returned the collar to the drawer, locked it and then unlocked his office doors. A plan formed in his mind. He needed to spend time with Audrey away from their day-to-day surroundings and problems. If NSS wanted to follow them and stake out their idyll, let them.

* * *

Audrey looked through her drawer for a pair of sheer gray stockings that she thought suited her purple linen suit more than off-black stockings would. If she’d had purple hose, she wouldn’t have worn them. As she rummaged through the drawer, her gaze fell on a packet of letters, brown with age, that she’d never forced herself to burn. Not that she was emotionally attached to them; she wasn’t. She had kept them for going on six years as a reminder of her hatred of Gerald Latham. She was tempted to read once more his words of undying love and faithfulness to her. And she would have, had not the grandfather clock in her upstairs hallway warned her that she had less than an hour to dress and get downtown to the hospital.

All the way to work, she fought the hatred that seeing those letters awakened in her, and swallowed once more the bitter bile of shame she had felt when she heard his awful confession—five minutes after they had made love for the first and only time, after he had just spilled himself into her.

Still wrapped in her arms, he’d said, “I sure hope you didn’t get pregnant, because I can’t marry you. Maybe I should have told you the truth, but I wanted you so badly. I’m married, and my wife is expecting our third child in a couple of weeks.”

Stunned to the point of temporary insanity, she’d pushed him off her and pummeled his face with her fist. As he ran from her bedroom, she had jerked the lamp on her night table from the wall socket and flung it at him, just missing his back. She didn’t know when he left her house, and when she stopped crying the next morning, she told herself that he would pay. And he would. She wasn’t a psychologist, but she knew that the way she felt about Gerald stood between her and Nelson. Indeed, she didn’t even let herself love Ricky with a full heart for fear that love would someday be a source of pain.

* * *

“You have a new patient at ten this morning,” her receptionist said, as Audrey walked through the reception room on her way to her office.

“Thanks. Who made the referral?”

“Dr. Adams over at Children’s Hospital. First time he’s sent us a patient. The boy is nine years old.”

Her first patient of the day had made remarkable progress in a short time because she exerted every effort to perform the exercises and took pride in her achievements. “Good morning, Ms. Hamilton. Did you follow the regimen this past week?”

“Yes, ma’am. I done every single thing you told me just like you said do it. And I done them all the time, whenever I was by myself.”

“Good. Would that all of my patients were as diligent as you.”

“If them few exercises is gon’ stop me from hurtin’, I’d be plain stupid not to do ’em.”

And it showed. Audrey reduced the women’s frequency of visits from weekly to biweekly and, as usual, accepted one-fourth of her normal fee. The woman was a single mother of four children and worked nights cleaning offices at low pay. She noted the woman’s condition in her file and prepared for the next patient.

Promptly at ten, her receptionist opened the door and in walked a familiar-looking young boy and an attractive African-American woman, tall with straight black hair, fine features and a very fair complexion. Audrey sized her up as fashion-conscious, wealthy and privileged from birth.

“How do you do, Dr. Powers,” she said, extending her hand. “Thanks for agreeing to see my son on such short notice. I’m Doris Latham.”

I’m getting daffy,
Audrey said to herself as she shook the woman’s hand.
Those letters I saw have me thinking she said her name was Latham.

“How do you do,” she said aloud. “Please have a seat. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Here’s her file, Dr. Powers,” Audrey’s receptionist said, as she placed the file on the desk and left the office.

She ran her gaze over the file and nearly sprained her neck in a quick double take. As luck would have it, she was looking away from Doris Latham when she saw the name on the file—Gerald Latham Junior—and the woman didn’t see her sharp intake of breath.

She glued her gaze to the papers in the manila folder, though all she saw was Gerald Latham Senior running from her bedroom with his clothing and shoes in his hands.

“Dr. Powers, is anything wrong?”

She willed herself to respond, summoning her resources as a professional and as a woman. “No. I have to think about this,” she said, her aplomb restored. “Let me study these papers, and as soon as I work out a plan for him, my receptionist will call you.”

She stood to indicate that the interview was over. The woman stood, obviously nonplussed, but her breeding showed when she smiled graciously, extended her hand and thanked Audrey.

“I hope we’ll hear from you soon.”

Audrey looked down at the boy and forced a smile. “Of course. In a day or so.”

Mrs. Gerald Latham and her son, Gerald Latham Junior, walked out of Audrey’s office, and she nearly collapsed into the chair. She didn’t believe in fate, but something approximating it was fooling with her life. Abruptly, she sat forward. Oh, yes. And it was dealing with the life of Gerald Latham Senior, too. The chickens had come home to roost. His son’s right foot had been mangled in an accident and subjected to several operations. But without proper therapy he wouldn’t walk perfectly again.

“I’m not the only therapist in this country,” she said, placing the file in her out box, fully aware that in Washington, D.C., she was the most prominent physician with that specialty. Let him hurt as she had hurt. Let him suffer. He owed her. Why shouldn’t she collect?
And why should an innocent child suffer for what you allowed his father to do?
She tried to banish the thought, but her conscience wouldn’t allow it.

* * *

The next day and the next, she wrestled between her longing for vengeance and her deeply ingrained allegiance to truth and integrity and to doing what she knew to be right. She fought the boy at night as he hobbled through her dreams, stumbling on piles of bricks, falling into traps, slipping into muddy ditches—and always emerging clean, unwrinkled and with a smile on his face. Her conscience flailed her in her waking hours and as she tried to sleep, but she couldn’t seem to make the call that would start Gerald Latham’s son toward complete recovery.

Chapter 9

N
elson looked over the results of his interview with Rufus Meade, saw that it contained nothing to which he could object, and marveled at its insightfulness. He phoned Meade.

“You did what you had to do, man. Great job. I sure didn’t tell you all this, so you went to the right sources for the filler.”

“Glad you’re pleased. I decided not to include that incident I saw tucked on a back page of
The Washington Post.
”

His name hadn’t appeared in connection with that article, and he wondered if Meade was fishing for news. “How’d you figure out it involved me?”

“Wasn’t difficult. The child’s last name was the clue. I gather he loves to identify himself as Ricky Wainwright. That seemed to amuse the
Post’
s reporter.”

He let himself relax. “Are you planning to do anything with that information?”

“Nah, man. I sense that’s an NSS matter, and it probably shouldn’t have been reported in the first place. I would like to meet that kid, though. He’s a clever one.”

He didn’t know a lot of reporters whose company he enjoyed, but he wouldn’t mind getting to know a man who’d made himself a legend both as a football player and as a journalist. “I’ll speak with my housekeeper and see what she can put together. She’s a great cook and loves to show off her culinary skills. I hope you’ll bring your significant other.”

“My wife, Naomi Logan-Meade. Just let me know when you’d like us to come. Say the words
good cook
and I’ll be right on time.”

Nelson liked the man, seemingly oblivious of his aura and the high regard in which people held him. To his surprise, he found he enjoyed speaking with a man who wasn’t connected to the military, that it refreshed him to meet someone as a human being and not as an individual with a rank that defined who he was.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said, and hung up.

After getting Lena’s delighted agreement to take care of the dinner, he phoned Audrey. “You seem down, or maybe preoccupied. Is there any way that I can help?”

“Thanks, but I’m... Maybe it’s lack of sleep. How are you?”

“Me? I’m fine. I’m inviting a man and his wife for dinner Thursday night, and I’d like you to join us. Can you make it?”

“Sure. I’d love that. Aunt Lena will really pull out all the stops. What time?”

“I’d like to be at your place for you at six.”

“But I can—”

“Audrey, I don’t ask women to meet me for a dinner date.”

“Oops! Better put on my ‘tweeds’ if that’s the way it is.”

He gave in to a hearty laugh. “I can’t imagine that any woman would outshine you. By the way, when can we have that weekend to ourselves?”

“Maybe after this one coming up? Do you have any idea when these guys will stop tailing us?”

“I know it’s hard on you, but try to be patient. It can’t go on forever.”

“And thank God for that. I suppose I’ve weathered worse.”

She had a way of saying such things, and he wondered, not for the first time, what was behind it. She had changed the subject, and although he didn’t want to put their idyll at some indefinite time in the future, he didn’t question her; he was too glad that she’d agreed to go with him at all.

* * *

“Oh, what the heck, nobody’s going to mistake me for a siren,” Audrey said that Thursday afternoon as she stood staring at the dresses in her closet. Having reassured herself with that pronouncement, she reached for a floor-length brick-red chiffon dress that flattered her coloring and exposed so much of her back that she couldn’t wear a bra. She fastened her hair in a French knot with the aid of two ivory pick-combs, put diamond studs in her ears, Fendi perfume in her cleavage, picked up the black silk evening bag that complemented her black silk slippers and strolled downstairs to wait for Nelson.

You will not think about the Lathams this night,
she admonished herself.
You are going to be warm, friendly and witty if it kills you.
She blinked back an unexpected tear. Why should she be weepy when she hadn’t done anything wrong? Gerald was the architect of that hideous crime, not she.

She answered the doorbell, and earned a long, sharp whistle worthy of any hard-hat construction worker.

“Somebody should have warned me. This woman is a siren.” Nelson pretended to mop his brow. “I’m in trouble, and the sun hasn’t even set. When the moon comes up, I’ll probably stand out on my deck and howl like a timber wolf.”

She reached up and kissed his jaw. “Behave yourself. I’m about to have a meltdown, but you don’t hear me meowing, do you?”

His even white teeth glistened in the smile that she loved. “Why would you do that?”

“Since you asked, nothing I get to eat at your place tonight could hold a light to you. If I don’t straighten out my head, I’ll think I’m Cinderella. You look...well... I hate the word, but you look smashing. Now let’s go before I take it all back.”

He didn’t move; his eyes shimmered with need and he spoke in a voice devoid of humor.

“You’re a beautiful woman, more so it seems each time I look at you.”

As far as she and most people who knew her were concerned, she hadn’t been beautiful a day in her life. Nice-looking? Yes. Beautiful? Definitely not.

“I’m glad you see me that way. Thanks,” she said, handing him a light stole. Noticing his baffled stare, she said, “You’re wearing a linen jacket. It gets cool these evenings, and when I turn around, you’ll see why I could freeze in August.”

He grinned. “Hmm. You’re right. We’d better go.”

* * *

“Looks as if Lena decided to show off,” Nelson said as they entered the house. “Good heavens! Anybody would think she’s staging a seduction.” A rumble of laughter poured out of him. “I should have told her Meade is bringing his wife.”

She whirled around and squinted at him. “What Meade are you talking about?”

He bent over to smell the bowl of tea roses on the inlaid walnut table that faced the living room window. “Rufus Meade. Know him?”

“You mean the journalist? You’re kidding.”

He opened the bar. “No, I’m not. I see Lena has some cracked ice here. Seems like she’s planning a real party. Soft lights, Gershwin love songs coming from somewhere, roses. I’d better go in there and tone her down. Wouldn’t surprise me if she served roast quail for the first course.”

He started toward the kitchen, but she stopped him. “I didn’t know you knew Rufus Meade. I used to scream my head off at the ’skins games when he was their wide receiver. I read his stuff all the time. He’s a classy guy.”

“He is that. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to meet a fan.”

Her balled fists went to the red chiffon that covered her hips. “Now you wait a minute. I do not gush over celebrities.”

“I didn’t suggest you did. Nothing wrong with being interested. I’m curious about him myself. That story he did on Afghanistan and me that appeared in the weekend
Post
is as good a piece of reporting as I’ve ever read.”

“What’s we having for din...?” He stared at Lena in a long, gold-embroidered black silk caftan, her hair in a knot at her nape, gold bangles in her ears. “Whew! What have we got
here
?”

“I’ll have you know, sir, there ain’t no flies on Lena Anderson. We’re having distinguished guests, and me and Ricky are acting the part.”

“Where is he? Never mind, I hear him downstairs at the piano. What are we having?”

“Seven courses. Coulibiac of salmon. Braised quail. Peach sorbet for a palate cleanser. Filet mignon roast, fluted mushrooms, asparagus tips and tiny red potatoes. Green salad. Assorted cheeses with my special bread, and crème Courvoisier, coffee and mints. The menu is on the dining-room table.”

Nelson pulled up his bottom lip and hoped his eyes would someday return to their normal size. “I never said the president was coming! How’s Ricky going to handle this? Anything more than a hamburger disgusts him.”

“Ricky is going to eat his meal, and he’s going to act as if this is what he eats for dinner every day.”

He inclined his head to the left. “Yeah? Which Ricky are you talking about?”

“Ours. You’ll see. And wait’ll you see him in his navy blue suit, long pants and all. Cute as he can be.”

Nelson sat down on the stool beside the kitchen sink. “I didn’t know he had a navy blue suit with long pants.”

“Oh, we got it this morning.” She looked toward the ceiling, her face brimming with pride. “And don’t he just love ’em! I declare, it don’t take much to make a little one happy.”

Audrey risked a glance at Nelson. He was a man who inspired admiration, not pity, but right then she pitied him, for he was as nonplussed a person as she had ever seen. At that moment, Ricky burst into the kitchen.

“Miss Lena, I played the whole piece. I got it...
Audie!
” Miracle of miracles, she thought as his whole demeanor changed. “Hi, Audie. How are you?” He glanced toward Lena. “Uh...gee, you look so pretty.”

She waited for him to come for his hug, but instead he
walked
over to Nelson. “Unca Nelson, hi. What time is company coming? You like my suit?”

“Definitely. I like it and I like you in it.”

A grin spread over Ricky’s face, then he leaned forward and whispered, “Miss Lena took me to the store this morning and bought it. I love Miss Lena.”

The doorbell rang, and Nelson patted Ricky on the shoulder and went to open the door. Audrey wondered how the security guards would treat Nelson’s visitors. It would certainly heighten the man’s curiosity if they questioned him as to why he wanted to enter Nelson’s home. Well, they’d soon know. She strolled into the living room and sat down in a beige velvet chair that didn’t clash with her red dress.

* * *

Nelson greeted Rufus Meade and his wife, Naomi Logan-Meade. An elegant man with a woman who complements him, Nelson thought as he walked with them to the living room. He looked at Audrey, relaxed and seemingly at home in his favorite chair, beautiful and queenly, and his heartbeat accelerated. She stood as he approached with his guests. He didn’t know what prompted him to do it, but before introducing them, he slung an arm around her waist, breathed in the perfumed aura that adorned her and walked with her to where Meade stood with his wife.

“This is Dr. Audrey Powers,” he said, and knew at once that his act of possessiveness with Audrey was not lost on Meade, for the man lifted his left eyebrow and let a half smile play around his mouth.

“I’m happy to meet you, Dr. Powers. This is my wife, Naomi Logan-Meade.”

Nelson got through the introductions as quickly as possible because he disliked formality in intimate settings. The two women greeted each other warmly, and he realized he wanted them to be friends, for he didn’t doubt that he and Meade had much in common and would enjoy a warm friendship.

He excused himself and went to the kitchen. “Could you two come with me?” he asked Lena and Ricky. “I want you to meet our guests.”

Ricky jumped from the stool on which he’d perched. “Is my suit all right, Unca Nelson?”

“Perfect. You look fine.”

“What about my tie? I don’t like this tie.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “It looks great, and it’s properly tied. Come on.”

“You look good,” he told Lena. “Downright frisky, I’d say.”

She treated him to a hearty laugh. “I thought I told you there ain’t no flies on me. In my day, I was something else. I could get it on with the best of ’em.”

It amused him that Ricky bounded ahead of them as they walked to the living room, ran up to Rufus Meade and held out his hand. “How you doing, Mr. Meade? I’m Ricky Wainwright.”

Meade’s face creased into a smile, warm and friendly. “Well, well. I’m fine, Ricky. How are you? I read about you.”

“Did you see my picture? They took a lot of pictures. My Unca Nelson said you wrote something about him.”

“That’s right, I did,” Meade said, obviously delighted with the boy. “Ricky, this is my wife, Naomi Logan-Meade.”

Ricky looked from Naomi to Audrey and back to Naomi. “How are you, Miss Na...N...Naomi? Are you gonna go home with Mr. Meade?”

Naomi laughed. “Absolutely. You bet I am.”

Everyone present could see that her answer pleased Ricky, who walked over and stood beside Audrey’s chair. “You have any little girls and boys?” he asked Naomi.

She told him about her seventeen-year-old son, Aaron, the eight-year-old twins—Preston and Sheldon—and her four-year-old daughter, Judy, whom they’d named after her great-grandfather, Judd.

Nelson had a twinge of guilt when Ricky gazed at him pleading with his eyes. “Can she come over and play with me?”

“Yeah. If she wants to.” He hadn’t realized that Ricky felt badly for having lost Stacey’s friendship. He knew so little about the matter that he couldn’t explain to Ricky why he couldn’t have Stacey for a playmate, and he wouldn’t lie to the child for any reason.

“We’ll have a picnic at our place, Ricky, and you’ll meet Judy and our boys,” Naomi said.

“Trust me, it’s only Judy he’s interested in. I’ve got a ladies’ man on my hands. You haven’t met the rest of my family,” Nelson said. “This is Lena Anderson. She looks after Ricky and me, and she’s also Audrey’s aunt.”

“Glad to meet you both,” Lena said, accepting their acknowledgements. “Y’all come on to the dining room. We’re having champagne with the first course, so you’d better not have drinks, that is, not unless you want to fall out on your face.”

Rufus stood and took Naomi’s hand. “Works for me. I heard about your magic with food, and I didn’t even eat lunch.”

Nelson had never known Lena to show diffidence, or was it feminine vanity, as she did then, along with what was certainly a bit of flirtatiousness.
My goodness,
he thought,
she’s a man’s woman, and what’s more, Meade knows it.

He seated Audrey opposite his place at the head of the table. “What kind of message are you sending to these people?” she whispered.

“That you’re my woman. You got any disagreement with that?” he asked, and placed a loving pat on her bare back. When he glanced at Lena, he saw that she’d been waiting to see where he would seat Audrey, and her expression of satisfaction didn’t escape him.