Guilty of Love (18 page)

Parke watched strands of Cheney’s hair
that weren’t tucked in her boring ponytail dance with the wind
against her flawless face. “Then, in 1867, a few years after
slavery was abolished, Paki altered the name. He removed the last
‘r’ to symbolize the first child removed from a world of enslaving
a fellow man. I guess that’s why I carry the reward notice. Elaine
and Paki were always a step ahead of their racist and hateful
society, so I must use my intellect to overcome today’s subtle
discrimination ploys.”

Cheney rested her chin in the palm of
her hand. “What a family legacy. You’re lucky. I’m surprised Paki
and Elaine could trust each other in their environment, live so
long under the dreadful codes of slavery, and not be
separated.”

Reflective, Parke bit his bottom lip.
“Yeah, I know. My mom’s side wasn’t so lucky. I could only trace it
back to 1860, and that’s where my great-great-aunt Lettie was
promised her freedom if she bore fifteen children.”

“
Oh my God!”

“
It gets worse. She was one
of many young
wenches
advertised in Virginia as good
breeding stock. For mere dollars, White men had a chance to
impregnate Negro slave women. It added slaves and gave restless
young White men something to do.”

With sad eyes, Cheney sighed. Parke
reached over and touched her hand.

“
I have seven
great-great-uncles who are brothers with different last names.
Their fathers were different overseers, masters, or clients. I
located them on the 1880 census because they happened to be living
in one place, all unmarried.”

“
I’m glad I ate before
story time. Whew, I’ve lost my appetite.”

“
Sorry. My heritage is very
important to me. I’m committed to choosing a beautiful wife who is
not afraid to be strong like you. And who appreciates my
ancestry.”

“
Good luck. I’m not getting
married.”

“
Nonsense, you’ll meet
someone special one day.”

Cheney gave a mock laugh. “Already
did. I’m a recycled lover, won’t be used again.”

Parke watched her brows knit together
and hurt flash across her face. “Life’s a journey with all kind of
detours, but our ancestors will lead us.”

“
Let me ask you a question.
Why did you invite me to the Black Repertory Theatre? You could be
using your time interviewing for Elaine’s position.”

“
See, that’s an easy
answer. You’re much more exciting than Tracey.”

“
Who’s Tracey?”

“
Someone I was going to
take to the play.”

Grabbing her purse, Cheney stood. “You
better keep looking. I’m not the one for you.”

Boy, don’t I know it,
Parke
thought.

One week later on a Friday night,
Cheney tagged along with Mrs. Beacon. At least three hundred
couples, teenagers, and seniors had invaded the ritzy ballroom of
the Chase Park Plaza for an annual dance event.

“
Reverse,” the live disc
jockey commanded. “Reverse, how low can you go? All the way to the
floor,” the dreadlocks-wearing man taunted the guests.

Some cheered, others bit down on their
tongues as they painstakingly followed instructions for the Cha-Cha
Slide.

“
Let me see you Charlie
Brown,” the man hyped the crowd.

Cheney watched with amazement as a
slightly overweight older Asian man to her right rocked back and
forth. His lips puckered as he concentrated to stay in step with
everyone else in the line. To his credit, he did a better job than
Cheney. Glancing over her shoulder, Mrs. Beacon’s long silver
ponytail anchored on top of her head, bounced as she moved with
ease. Her neighbor’s gold glittery sweater sparkled every time a
strobe light spotted her. Mrs. Beacon’s fitted faded jeans matched
the denim two-inch heeled sandals.

“
Pump it up now, y’all,”
the deejay shouted.

Laughing, Cheney jumped to stay in
step. She was enjoying herself. At first, she couldn’t believe she
had let Mrs. Beacon talk her into an all-night
dance-a-thon.

“
It’s a yearly fundraiser
for the Sickle Cell Foundation, Foster Kids of Greater St. Louis,
and the Safe House for abused women and kids,” Mrs. Beacon
pleaded.

Kids? Since her abortion, Cheney
didn’t think twice about helping children. She’d do whatever she
could to redeem herself. “But all night?” she had quizzed her
neighbor. “How can you stay awake until six o’clock in the
morning?”

“
Geritol and a morning
workout with Janet Jackson’s
When I Think of You
video.”

“
All right, but please tell
me I won’t have to suffer through the fox trot, waltzes, and big
band sounds all night.”

Mrs. Beacon revealed a toothy grin as
she pulled long hairpins out of her mass of curls. “Chile, please.
We do a little moon walking, bumpin’ and the old folks have a
contest to see who can do the Harlem Shake without fracturing a
collarbone.”

Cheney couldn’t contain her laughter.
“You’re kiddin’, right?”

“
Nope, brush up on your
dance moves, Heney. You haven’t seen anything until you see me
salsa and mambo.” Mrs. Beacon demonstrated a quick spin, scaring
Cheney.

She hadn’t missed Mrs. Beacon
referring to her as Heney. It no longer irritated her, but had
become a term of endearment. Cheney held up one hand like she was
stopping traffic. “Okay, okay. I hope for your sake they play some
slow jams so you won’t hurt yourself and something familiar to me,
so I can stay alert to carry you home.”

Her adopted grandma had shooed Cheney
off her porch. “Now go get dressed. I’ll drive. I’m in a rush to
get there.”

“
We’ve got all night.”
Cheney then rushed next door to get dressed.

Now, hours later and sipping punch,
she watched Mrs. Beacon mingle with other older women, fashionably
dressed and just as youthful looking as Tina Turner and Cher.
Cheney fanned herself, exhausted from repeats of the Cha-Cha
Slide—the long version.

Tapping her sandal, Cheney hummed
along as the band wooed its guests with Motown
favorites.

“
R-E-S-P-E-C-T”.

“
Yeah, ‘Retha, that’s what
I’m talking about,” yelled a middle-aged White woman who blushed
when some twenty-something sistahs gave her high fives.

Pairing off to rumba, the band
eventually played a romantic Latin beat. Men openly flirted with
women as they spun them around, turning them under their arms. The
couples’ touches were possessive, their stares seductive, and their
movements natural.

Cheney didn’t ask for it, but Larry’s
dark face materialized as in an old black-and-white movie. Memories
of them dancing the night away appeared after acing their finals.
The image fizzled, replaced with something colorful, full of
energy, and blossoming with love. Cheney imagined Paki and Elaine
dressed in African garb, dancing together in sync, oozing with
passion, hypnotized by love. A defying love that would accept
challenges together, no matter what the cost.
Why Larry? Why
couldn’t you accept the challenge?

Munching on hors d’oeuvres, Cheney
continued to watch. “Because you were a loser. I’m a loser. Good
luck, Parke, with finding your Elaine.” Cheney shrugged. “The
prince I found was an imposter—the dog, wolf, and mutt.”

“
Stop eating and talking to
yourself, girl, it’s time to get some exercise. C’mon, it’s salsa,
baby,” Mrs. Beacon said in an Austin Powers drawl.

Groaning, Cheney complied. Mrs. Beacon
dragged her to the center of the dance floor. Together they
resembled Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito, but Cheney was
having a ball despite the lateness of the hour. Funny how first
impressions were deceiving. The ruthless, tactless Mrs. Beacon was
fast becoming a close friend.

Cheney also didn’t know what to think
about Parke. After spending that day with him and listening to his
family background, she’d have to rethink her opinion of him as
annoying. He was as fascinating as he was fine, and she hated that
she noticed. Parke also caused her to miss her dysfunctional
family. Plus, she had yet to figure out what the deal was with his
prayer over their food.

She stole a moment to fantasize about
a genuine family. If she could have one wish, one hope, one
blessing, or one prayer, it would be for her to start her own
family. But she’d relinquished her dream and when Mrs. Beacon
wasn’t looking, she sneaked off the dance floor.

Looping a leather belt through the
waist of his jeans, Parke hummed along with Brian McKnight’s
Love of My Life
. Closing his eyes, Parke listened as the
singer’s pitch grasped at an incredible and sometimes unimaginable
love.

A long, carefree paintbrush appeared
in his imagination, stroking a canvas, building layers of what he
proposed consisted of a relationship—admiration, deep attraction,
and mutual respect. Beauty was a must, but he had to have someone
with a sense of humor.

He had to have a son to continue the
Jamieson name, and a daughter just because. The adorable little
girl featured in one of Brian McKnight’s videos came to his mind.
So far, something was always missing with his dates. Yet, when he
reminisced about his ancestors with Cheney, his yearning increased
to continue the Jamieson bloodline.

The sound of the phone ended his
daydream. Parke reached for his cordless and lowered the volume on
his CD player. He checked the caller ID. “Hello,
Nettie.”

“
Hey, did I disturb you or
ya heading out for a wild, sinful date?”

“
Ooh, Annette, you know me
so well,” Parke baited her because for once she was wrong. “I’m on
my way to Mom and Dad’s for family night. Believe it or not,
alone.”

“
Hallelujah. My prayers are
being answered. Please keep working on him,
Lord
.”

“
Jesus and I are just fine.
I believe in Him, and I accept Him. You don’t have to request a
work order for me.”

She softened her tone. “We all need
Jesus to work on us. How’s your prayer life?”

“
Good when I remember to do
it.” Parke racked his brain to actually pinpoint the last time. It
had been with Cheney. Surely there were other times. He couldn’t
put his finger on one. “Just because I don’t go around quoting
scriptures, praying for people, living celibate, and bugging folks
about Jesus, doesn’t mean I’m going to hell. Jesus and I have an
understanding. He accepts me as I am, and I’m cool with
that.”

“
You’re off base. God
always gives a warning before destruction. Listen, God told me to
tell you ‘
Behold, now is the day of salvation
.’ Read 2
Corinthians 6, like your number. Remember,
God so loved the
world that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believeth
on Him, won’t perish.
I don’t want to see you
perish.”

“
Annette, Annette, Annette,
you’ve got too much church drama for me.”

“
That’s okay. You can’t
insult me because I’m praying for your soul. God revealed to me
that somebody close to you really needs the Lord. Pay
attention!”

Why the desperation in her voice? He
never recalled her pleading with him before. He wanted to say
something witty to lighten the moment, but thought better of
it.

“
I love you, Parke,”
Annette whispered so soft, he barely heard her.

“
I love you, too,
Nettie.”

“
God gave me a job to do,
and I plan to carry it out.”

Always the little soldier to fight for
whatever she believed in. He loved her determination, just not her
agenda this time. “Bye.” Dismissing Annette’s so-called prophecy,
Parke grabbed his keys and left.

***

Something was about to change for
Hallison. After leaving “the church” five years ago, she still felt
the invisible hands holding her back from things others might have
considered sinful. Malcolm wouldn’t put his sexual desires for her
on hold forever. It was time. If she felt guilty afterwards, she
would repent. God said, ‘
If we confess our sins, He is faithful
and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all
unrighteousness.’
Exactly, this was something she wanted to
experience, presumptuous sin or not.

Hallison glanced at her bedside clock.
Malcolm would arrive soon to take her to his parents’ house.
Massaging ripe-raspberry cream into her pores, she hoped the scent
would seep into Malcolm’s brain throughout the night and drive him
crazy. She dressed in a brown off-the-shoulder crocheted top and a
leopard-print crinkle long skirt with side splits up to her thighs
that were sure to keep Malcolm’s attention.

The doorbell rang as she slipped her
feet into her heeled scandals. Taking a deep breath, Hallison
examined her reflection and smiled. “Your temptress is coming.”
Swinging open the door, Hallison stood surprised, embarrassed,
flabbergasted, and felt as naked as Eve. “Mama?” Suddenly, she
needed a cigarette.