Hidden Memories (23 page)

“The new administration certainly has been busy during its first quarter.”

“Yes, it has.”

“So tell us more about the special election,” Erica said.

“The special election to vote on a new flag will be held in June. Voters can go to their regular polls or, as always, if they’re going to be out of town, can vote by absentee ballot,” Sage explained.

“Sounds like a regular election.”

“Everything about the election is the same, including the voting polls and the tabulation process.”

“When will the new flag go into effect?”

“Some companies have already stopped flying the existing state flag. But the new flag will become the official flag of Georgia next year on July 1, the beginning of the fiscal year. That gives everybody a little more than a year to get the new flags made and distributed.”

“Thanks for joining us, Sage. I can’t wait to see which flag will be selected.”

“Neither can I,” Sage said, smiling warmly into the camera. “We’ll find out in three weeks.”

* * * * *

The two men watching the
Good Morning Atlanta
show in a rural Georgia town fifty miles south of Atlanta were not smiling.

“I can’t rely on you for anything,” the father complained.

“How was I supposed to know the senator would kill himself?” the son said.

“It’s too late now. First you didn’t stop the black bastard from getting elected, and then you couldn’t even stop the legislators from passing a simple bill.” Randolph stared at his son with unveiled disgust.

“I tried, Father. The people I hired weren’t reliable.”

“You hired outsiders? Who? You’re not to discuss what we do with anyone but the team.”

“Sometimes the team can’t do what needs to be done,” Winchester explained heatedly.

“You haven’t done what you were supposed to do. Tom wants to elect a new leader.”

The younger man knocked a kitchen chair to the floor. “I’m in charge, Father!”

“Maybe not for long.”

Winchester stared at Sage on the television screen. “I’m going to get you, bitch,” he mumbled to himself.

“What’s that?” Randolph asked.

“Nothing,” his son answered and walked out of the room.

Chapter Twelve

The 100 Black Women of Atlanta, a high-profile organization of successful, professional black women, hosted quarterly lunches as well as an annual conference that drew people from all over the country. Sage had relinquished her position as vice president of the local chapter but was still active in the organization. Today, as mistress of ceremony for the “Rising above the Corporate Ladder” luncheon held at the Omni Hotel, Sage introduced the featured speaker, Georgette Frazier, who drew the audience to their feet with her keen observations and funny quips about corporate life.

When the luncheon was over, Sage spoke with several members, chatting about the speaker’s presentation and local events. She heard some of the rumors circulating through town about a city council member who was being investigated for taking kickbacks.

The hotel ballroom was almost empty by two o’clock as the women returned to their offices, newly motivated to reach for the next rung on the slippery corporate ladder.

Sage waved goodbye to the president of the organization as they were leaving the ballroom. “See you at next month’s meeting.” Remembering that she’d left her cellular phone at the office, Sage headed toward the bank of telephones to call Marika. She dropped a quarter in the pay phone and was dialing the number to her office when Edwinna tapped Sage on the shoulder.

“I need to speak to you,” Edwinna said.

“I’m on the phone,” Sage said with an unfriendly glare, turning her back on the other woman.

“I have something to tell you,” Edwinna insisted. “Something you should know.”

Ignoring her, Sage finished her conversation with Marika, who reminded her of her appointment with a real estate agent later that evening. She hung up the phone, then headed toward the parking garage elevators. Sage rounded the corner and almost bumped into Edwinna.

“I need to talk to you,” Edwinna said, standing in front of the elevators.

Sage eyed her suspiciously. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

“On the contrary,” Edwinna insisted smugly. “I think you’ll be very interested.”

“Look, Edwinna, I don’t have time for your games,” Sage said in the crisp warning tone mothers use before disciplining their children. The elevator door opened and Sage stepped inside.

“Ramion must have told you about our evening together last week,” Edwinna said, her hands planted on her hips. Her voice was loud and emphatic, a clear broadcast to anyone standing near.

Sage swung back around to face her nemesis. “What are you talking about?” She stepped off the elevator just as the doors closed.

“I spent the evening at Ramion’s last week.” Her lips twisted into a predatory smile. She laughed, dramatically touching her chest. “We really enjoyed ourselves. You know what I mean,” she said, her implication clear.

Sage moved closer to Edwinna; their faces were only inches apart. She could smell the woman’s perfume. “
If
you spent the evening with Ramion, it hasn’t changed anything between us. We’re still getting married.”

“I don’t care about you marrying Ramion. I don’t mind sharing him. After all, I had him first. We’ve always enjoyed a satisfying relationship.” She swiveled her hips and tossed her head to the side. “Let me rephrase that. We enjoyed a very erotic sexual relationship. And it’s obvious you don’t know how to please him, Miss Prim and Proper. That’s why he still needs me.”

Her eyes unwavering, Sage said, “Apparently I satisfy him enough for him to marry me. Hmm, just think about it a minute. You’re Edwin Williamson’s daughter. One would think Ramion would marry you.” Sage turned away and walked over to the elevators, pressed the call button once again. “Instead he’s marrying me. Don’t you wonder why? Or could it be you already know it’s because you’re a whore?”

“Bitch!”

“No, no, you’re the bitch, Edwinna, which is precisely why Ramion doesn’t want you. And just between us, I don’t believe your lie about Ramion. You’re too pathetic to believe.”

The elevator doors opened and Sage stepped inside, hoping that Edwinna didn’t follow her. She scowled at her as the doors closed.

Sage put the key in her car door with trembling hands. She didn’t want to believe Edwinna, but the thought of Ramion naked, making love and enjoying Edwinna’s body, felt like a knife in her heart. Gripping the steering wheel, she closed her eyes and fought the tears that threatened to fall. “How could he betray me like that?” she asked out loud.

She drove to the Governor’s Mansion with jumbled thoughts and emotions. She vacillated in thinking Edwinna was a liar and Ramion a traitor.

The first thing Sage did when she got to her office was call Ramion’s office number, ignoring her stack of messages. She silently cursed when his secretary told her he was in court.
If he slept with her, that sleazy whore, I’m not going to marry him,
she thought.

But that’s exactly what Edwinna wants. Are you going to let her win?

I have to talk to Ramion.

Sage spent the afternoon working, although she really wasn’t able to concentrate, Edwinna’s words ringing through her mind. She tried to reach Ramion several times, but he was out of the office all afternoon. She was on a conference call when he called her back and left a message that he would meet her at the real estate agent’s office.

On her way to meet Ramion at the real estate agent’s office, Sage ran into evening rush-hour traffic. Driving at a frustrating ten miles per hour on Georgia 400, Sage looked at the clock on her dashboard and realized that she was going to be late. She called Ramion’s cellular phone, but there was no answer. She then dialed the real estate office and left a message for the agent that she was going to be late.

She turned up the radio, the stop-and-go pace of the traffic increasing her agitation. Suddenly she heard the unmistakable whine of Prince singing “Little Red Corvette”. “Not that damn song,” she said out loud, and then pushed a tape into the cassette player. David Sanborn’s searing sax filled the air.

* * * * *

Ramion and the real estate agent were looking at a large picture map of the Metro Atlanta area when Sage arrived at the New Homes Center. Multicolored stickpins representing new subdivisions dotted the color-coded map.

“Ramion,” Sage said in a flat, emotionless voice when she approached them.

Several brochures clasped in his hand, Ramion turned, smiling broadly at Sage. He grabbed her hands and kissed her on the cheek. “Sage, this is Fran, our real estate agent.”

“Hello,” Sage said, shaking the agent’s hand.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” said Fran, a red-haired, freckled-faced white woman. Her soft-spoken voice didn’t hide her deep Southern drawl. She appeared to be in her early thirties.

“I’m sorry we had to cancel on you so many times,” Sage said.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad to show you some of the wonderful homes we have. I’ve already shown your fiancé some of the new developments in the area you’re interested in.” She pointed to the map, indicating the yellow stickpins that marked subdivisions in the price range they were looking for in the northern portion of Atlanta.

“Look at all the subdivisions under construction,” Ramion said, pointing to the purple stickpins dotting northern Gwinnett, Fulton and Forsyth Counties.

“There are some beautiful properties out there. Many of them have golf courses, swimming pools, tennis courts and private lakes. You get more for your money out there.”

“But we prefer to live in the city. We both work downtown,” Sage explained.

“A lot of people who live out here commute. Some even take MARTA. Atlanta has become quite a commuter town. If you want to take a look at some of the homes in the Alpharetta area, I’d be glad to show you. In fact, a lot of celebrities live out there. There are plenty of communities to choose from.”

“As I told you on the phone, we’re not interested in living in the suburbs,” Sage said in the impatient, clipped tone of voice of a remedial teacher talking to a simple-brained student. She was tired of real estate agents who tried to steer them away from the city. Every real estate agent she talked to gave the same more-for-your-money, less-taxes-in-the-suburbs speech. She didn’t care; suburban living was not conducive to their lifestyle. Besides, at the moment, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to marry Ramion.

“It’s not worth the inconvenience and aggravation,” Ramion explained. He pointed to the homes in the Vinings area. “That’s a perfect location for us. It’s near the Governor’s Mansion where Sage works, and getting to the courthouse won’t be a major obstacle for me.”

Fran smiled and apologized. “I’m sorry if I’m giving you the wonderful-suburban-life song. It’s such a habit. I know there are beautiful homes in the areas you like, especially in your price range. I’m sure we can find something that you’ll love.”

“I hope so,” Sage said, her enthusiasm sinking rapidly to the level of a sunken ship.

“It’s easier if I drive you around, or if you prefer, we can take separate cars.”

“We’re yours for the next couple of hours,” Sage said.

“Great! I’ve already given Ramion some of the brochures from the builders we represent.” Fran showed them additional brochures, pointing out some of the unique architectural features of each builder.

* * * * *

Two hours later, Fran parked in front of the New Homes Center, her tour completed.

“That pink stucco house in Vinings was fabulous,” Fran said, pulling up the brake on her Saab. “There was plenty of closet space, and the sunken living room and spiral staircase would certainly impress even your most important guests.”

“Yes, I liked that one the best,” Sage agreed.

“We didn’t cover much in Buckhead and Chastain,” Fran said. “When would you be available to go out again?”

“In a couple of weeks,” Sage said, opening the car door and getting out. “I’ll call you when I know for sure.”

“Do you want to be moved in before the wedding?”

“We’d like to be,” Sage said, “but it depends on the house.”

“Thanks for your time,” Ramion said, shutting the car door.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ramion asked after Fran drove off. He couldn’t understand why Sage had said so little to him. They stood in front of Ramion’s car; Sage’s car was parked around the side of the building. “You were so cold. No, correction, you were rude.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you slept with Edwinna?” Sage asked, glaring angrily into Ramion’s face, unveiling the feelings she had barely contained for the last two hours.

Ramion hesitated before answering, searching for the right words to explain Edwinna’s duplicity.

Sage perceived Ramion’s hesitation as a sign of guilt and turned away, rushing over to her car.

“I didn’t sleep with her. I came home, and she was in the house.”