ROMANCING THE BULLDOG (13 page)

said, “why didn’t he call and ask me himself?”

“Ah, come on, Liz, you know how he is. What you’re asking him to do is to admit he’s

been wrong, and that ain’t gonna happen.”

That was probably the most honest thing her brother, who worshiped their father, had said.

But the idea of reconciling with her family was too tempting for her to turn down. “What time

tonight?” she asked.

“Say seven?”

Liz exhaled. “Seven’s good,” she said. “And Mal,” she added, “this better not be an

ambush.”

“Girl, listen to yourself. An ambush. Has living in Philadelphia made you that cynical?”

“No,” Liz admitted, “but you and our dear Dad have.”

“Ouch again!” Malcolm said. “You’ve toughened up, good for you. See you tonight then.”

He said this and typical Malcolm, immediately hung up.

Liz held onto her phone a moment longer, before hanging up too. That sense of dread

every time she thought about her father began to overtake her. She used to love that man so

much, and crave being in his presence, that she used to do anything and everything to get his

attention. But nothing worked. She made all A’s in school, joined all kinds of A-list

organizations, but it never was enough for him. And when she was accepted into Edward

Waters College, the school of her choice, he looked at her as if she’d grown fangs. “Edward

Waters is fine,” he said, “as far as it goes. But no daughter of mine is going there. You hear

me? You either get your sorry ass into Harvard, or don’t even bother.”

But that night she spent with Jason changed her. She saw that she wasn’t this powerless

daddy’s girl who did whatever daddy wanted, only to find that it was never good enough. She

was a desirable young woman who had even an experienced, gorgeous hunk like Bulldog

Rascone wanting her. And he did that night, he wanted her desperately. Knowledge is power

and that knowledge changed her. Unfortunately for her, however, that power of hers lasted

about as long as she could say ‘I Do’ to yet another man with a shackle in his hand.

Her private line rang again. This time it was Jason. “Hello Beautiful,” he said cheerily into

the phone.

Liz smiled. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m good, thanks. How are you?”

“Perfect now that I can hear your voice again. I didn’t mean to work you so hard last

night.”

Liz literally blushed.

“I want to see you tonight. How’s about dinner at my place?”

Liz closed her eyes. That would be wonderful, but not now. “Nope,” she said. “Can’t.”

There was a hesitation on the other end. She could tell Jason had not expected no for an

answer. “And why can’t you?” he asked her.

Liz wasn’t about to tell him or anybody else what her plans for tonight were, especially since

she could very well back out of those plans at any second. “I just can’t.”

“Another invitation?”

“Something like that.”

“Ah. And may I ask from whom?”

“You can ask it,” Liz said. She didn’t mean to sound so coy, but she just wasn’t willing to

discuss it. Especially not with him, her father’s former confidant.

“I see,” Jason said, and he said it in a way that made Liz certain he didn’t see a thing.

“Anyway, I’ve got a meeting. Talk to you later.” Jason said this quickly and hung up the

phone.

He was in a limo, heading across town to a Friar’s club meeting, and leaned back in his

seat. His heart was hammering at the thought of Liz going out with someone else. Who was

this person, he wanted to know. He thought they had connected last night in a way that would

exclude all others, that would make them both seriously contemplate making a go of it as. . . as

what? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Sex partners only? He didn’t know. But something.

Now the very next day and she had already accepted a dinner invite. Of course it could

have been innocent, maybe a girl friend or co-worker, or it could have been an invite she’d

accepted before last night. But why was she being so secretive about it if it was innocent?

Jason exhaled. It was a man. No other way around that fact. Another man would be enjoying

her sweet essence, her incredible face and remarkable body, and he was powerless to do a

thing about it. He tossed his cell phone onto the seat, would have slung it against a wall if one

was available. “Damn!” he said.

***

her father. But she tried to overlook his displeasure. She wasn’t about to go down that road

of pleasing him again, especially since nothing she had ever done ever did. She, instead, made

the rounds of hellos and hugs for her brother, her brother’s wife, her aunt Beatrice, who had

gotten her the job she now had, and her father’s latest-some young supermodel Liz had never

seen before. When she got to her father, who was seated in the chair flanking the sofa and

seemed royally pissed, she didn’t dare touch him. “Hello, Father,” she said as unemotionally

as she possibly could.

Hamilton Morgan responded equally unemotional. “You’re late,” he said.

“Yes, I am,” Liz said as if daring him to say more. She was nervous, more than any of

them would ever know, but she was more determined. That was why she just stood there,

facing her tall, handsome, powerful father, as if she was standing up to herself. For that was

how it felt for her. Her lifelong desire to please him, had little to do with him, and everything

to do with how she saw herself. She didn’t think she was anything unless her father, the great

Hamp Morgan, said she was something special. Since he never said (ever), she figured it was

because she wasn’t. Hooking up with the man she would later marry, a man who reminded

her so much of her father that it was uncanny, didn’t help. But at least it was her life, her

decision. And when it all unraveled and she phoned her father for help, and he wouldn’t even

take her call, was a good thing. Because she knew then she was on her own. She knew then

she had to fight for her freedom, or lose it all. She fought.

Just like she was fighting now. Only she was fighting back tears, fighting back that feeling of

abandonment, fighting back the fear that this would be their last chance at reconciliation, and it

was already breaking bad.

“Don’t just stand there like some dunce,” Hamp told her. “Sit down.”

Liz wanted to fire back at him, but she didn’t. You couldn’t win in any mouth battle with

her father. He was too quick, too sharp-tongued, too willing to tear you apart to lose. She sat

down, on the sofa next to her Aunt Bea, who was about the only friendly face in the house.

Her father then looked at Malcolm, and Malcolm, who sat on the sofa across from Liz and

Bea, whose wife Cassie sat so close to him they seemed wedged together, leaned forward,

ready to do their father’s bidding.

“I’m glad you could make it, Elizabeth,” Malcolm said. He was the spitting image of Hamp

Morgan. Tall, good looking, sharp dresser. And he had his swagger too, his ruthlessness,

something that always used to make Liz sad. When they were kids, Mal used to be the good

kid, kind and considerate, the type who always wanted to adopt a stray cat. But as he grew

older and wiser, all he wanted, not unlike Liz, was to please their father. Now he was pleasing

him to a point that excluded all others. His entire life, it seemed to Liz, revolved around

Hamp.

“But this is the deal,” Malcolm continued, ready, Liz felt, to pounce. “We want to put the

past behind us. We can’t forget the shame you put on this family with your disobedience and

insufferable choices, but we’ll willing to forgive you.”

Liz didn’t know quite what to make of that. Mal made it sound as if he and her father

played no part in her distress, that all of the lack of love, lack of acknowledgement she had

endured as a child, had nothing whatsoever to do with how she turned out.

“So we want to move forward,” Malcolm continued. “And we will gladly welcome you

back into the fold with open arms if you will promise to behave in a way befitting a Morgan,

and that you will renounce your past and admit that you should have listened to Father in the

first place whom, even you have to realize, only had your best interests at heart.”

It was an ambush just as Liz had suspected. This had nothing to do with forgiving her, but

everything to do with exonerating them. She looked at her father. “And what about you?” she

asked him. When he turned his steely gaze in her direction, she almost flinched, but didn’t.

She held his stare.

“What about me?” he said in that precise, Sidney Poitier kind of speech he used, especially

when he wanted to intimidate somebody.

Liz swallowed hard, but continued. “I’ll admit I’ve made some mistakes in my life, that’s

nothing but the truth. But what about your part in those mistakes? What about some truth on

your side, too? Don’t you think you bear some responsibility here?”

Hamp Morgan looked at his daughter as if she’d just slapped him. “How dare you suggest

that I was responsible for your foolishness.”

“I didn’t say you were solely responsible for it. What I’m saying is that---”

“Ran around here like some harlot in heat, doing everything in your power to defame my

good name! Sleeping around with any man who would have you, including my own attorney.

What self-respecting woman would sleep with Jason Rascone, who always had more women

than he could keep count of? Can you imagine how I felt when I found out what happened,

that you had spent the night with that asshole? I couldn’t believe it!”

Liz sat stunned. Never once had it crossed her mind that Jason would have told on her.

“Jason told you that. . . Jason actually told you--- ”

“He didn’t have to tell me. Wilkes told me. Of course Jason denied it to my face. We

even came to blows when I told it like it was. Slut was too good a name for the likes of you, I

told him, and he wanted to fight me for saying it. Can you imagine?”

“You mean to tell me,” Liz said, still reeling, “that you fired him as your attorney because

he didn’t like the name you called me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Why would I fire somebody over you? Besides, he forgot about

your behind within hours of defending your honor, that’s just the way he is, and our

relationship didn’t change.” Then her father paused, as if remembering something distasteful.

“Until he dumped me as a client so he could appease those right-wing nut jobs that wanted to

run him for mayor. But that’s cool, that’s all right. He’s on top of the mountain now, but he’ll

get his.”

Liz didn’t know what to make of all she was hearing. And her father didn’t give her a

chance to figure it out, either, as he continued his diatribe. “So yeah, I’m going to tell it like it

is. You embarrassed me and I was ashamed to call you my daughter. The only reason I’m

even considering allowing you back into my life is because of your aunt over there. She’s

driving this bandwagon, because if it was up to me---”

“That’s enough, Hamilton,” Aunt Bea said.

“I’m telling the truth, Bea! Since she’s so passionate about the truth! And if she continues

down this line of blaming me for her foolishness, then she can sail her ass out of my home

right here and right now!”

Liz stood up before he could finish his sentence. “Elizabeth, wait!” her aunt implored,

rising too, attempting to take her by the arm, but Liz was already leaving.

“And don’t come back!” her father yelled after her.

“I won’t!” she yelled back, fighting tears as she rounded the foyer and slung open the

heavy, double doors. Only she ran out of her father’s house and straight into the arms of a

tall, wiry-framed man who caught her by the arms as she bounced from him and was about to

fall backwards.

“Whoa, my sister,” he said as he grabbed her. “Nothing can be that serious.”

“I’m sorry,” Liz said, not bothering to look up, but still attempting to get away.

The man, however, frowned and bent down to get a better look at her face. “Liz?” he

asked. When he said her name, she looked up at him. Tall, thin, the prescription eye glasses

he wore. Recognition dawned immediately.

“Clay?” she asked. “Clay Davis?”

“I don’t believe it!” he said, smiling, standing erect again, all six-feet of him. “Little Liz

Morgan. Wow,” he added, looking down the length of her, “you ain’t so little anymore.”

“How you doing?”

“Good,” he said, pushing his eyeglasses up on his nose. “Great. So that’s why I was