Seduced by Moonlight (19 page)

 

Cherisse was happy that her workweek had been so busy that she hadn't had time to fret about the red-and-white ball. The only affair she'd ever been to at which she had worn a gown had been her wedding to Charlie. And then the gown had been borrowed. It had belonged to her mother. For the red-and-white ball she and Sonia had combed Denver looking for just the right dress. She had spent way too much money on it and Sonia had advised her to save the price tag because she knew how to reattach that sucker so they could return the dress on Monday morning.

Cherisse had looked down at the price tag and had been sorely tempted.

What if Harry took one look at her and realized what a poseur she was? She wasn't the type of woman you took to posh balls. She was the type of woman you took to a rodeo, or to the company Christmas party. They were more her speed. What was she going to say to the mayor? Her mother, now, her mother could chat with the mayor and tell him when he got gravy on his tie and advise him to chew with his mouth closed. Her mother was no respecter of persons. She didn't care who you were, she felt perfectly comfortable in your presence. Cherisse wished some of her mother's nerve had rubbed off on her.

Then, suddenly she remembered that she'd done fine in Montana. Of course Brian and Mitzi Raynor had been down-to-earth people who made her feel at ease.

“Cheri, you go clean up, I'll finish here,” Gerald told her. “Chill out, girl, things are looking up. Although Pedersen might think it's a bad thing, patient numbers are at an all-time low in pediatrics. That's good news.”

“Thanks, Gerry,” Cherisse said and went into the adjacent bathroom to remove her shoes and place them in a white trash bag. Her ruined shoes in the bag, she left the patient's room and went to the lounge.

In the lounge Cherisse dropped the shoes into the trash receptacle designated for noncontagious refuse and then went and changed.

She was about to leave the lounge after putting on her spare Nikes when David Pedersen strode into the room. She hadn't seen him since Monday. He had other nurses on other floors to harass, after all.

“David,” she said, “what brings you here? The coffee in your office isn't as good as ours?” She nodded in the direction of the coffeemaker. She was leaving in about twenty minutes in order to race across town to start getting ready for the ball. All of a sudden she felt like Cinderella. And here was her mean old stepmother, David Pedersen, about to spoil her day.

“It's about Mary Thomas,” he said. “What's going on with her? We can't afford to continue paying her salary if she's on a drinking binge we're footing the bill for.”

Cherisse got great satisfaction in saying, “I hate to disappoint you, David, but Mary is doing great! She's going to AA every day. She hasn't touched liquor in weeks. She will be returning to work on Monday.”

David sniffed derisively and turned on his heels. “Probably won't last,” he said in parting.

Cherisse saw red. She went and grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to look at her. “Why can't you be happy for Mary? That she's trying to pull herself together? Do you get some kind of sick satisfaction in watching people fail? What is it with you, David?”

With a pinched expression on his face, and his wiry gray hair practically standing on end, Pedersen fairly vibrated with pent-up tension. “Nobody ever gave me a break, and I made it. I don't truck with coddling people. I heard what you did, getting the police to go to her house and rescue her from her druggie daughter. You had no right to interfere in her life. She works for you, she isn't your friend!”

“She works for me,
and
she's my friend,” Cherisse corrected him. “The two aren't mutually exclusive except in your case. I work for you but I'm definitely not your friend.”

David Pedersen walked off in a huff.

Cherisse sighed and rolled her eyes. He was never going to change so she would do well not to waste any brain cells thinking about him. She went to her office to finish up a little paperwork before she left for the day.

 

Arriving at the ball felt like a night at the Oscars. The red carpet had been rolled out and the moment Harry pulled the car to a stop, someone was there to take his car keys, and someone else to open the door for Cherisse and hand her out.

As they made their way up the carpet, Cherisse in a red strapless ankle-length gown and Harry in a white tuxedo, newspaper photographers and cameramen from the local TV stations took pictures and filmed them. Harry flashed his signature smile.

It was obvious to Cherisse that the media adored him. She smiled lovingly up at him, realizing that in his presence she wasn't as nervous as she thought she would be.

“Hey, Harry, who's the doll on your arm?” called a reporter.

“This is Cherisse Washington,” Harry called back. “Two
S'
s in Cherisse, get her name right, Ben.”

The reporter named Ben laughed. “Okay, Harry, you don't have to remind me that I spelled your last name wrong a few times.”

They walked on amid flashing lights until they reached the entrance, where a uniformed doorman ushered them inside and said, “Good evening, Mr. Payne, miss, welcome to the red-and-white ball.”

“Thank you,” said Harry and allowed Cherisse to precede him.

Upon entering the ballroom, Cherisse unconsciously held her breath. The huge crystal chandelier dominated the high-ceilinged room. The marble floor gleamed, making the expensively dressed revelers look as if they were walking, or dancing in some cases, on water. She and Harry stood at the top of the stairs. They would have to descend a long flight of stairs to get to the dance floor.

“May I present, Mr. Harrison Payne and Ms. Cherisse Washington,” announced an elderly gentleman in white tie and tails, his booming voice resounding against the walls of the cavernous space.

She and Harry slowly descended the stairs and were at once set upon by a couple of Harry's old teammates with their wives. Cherisse was introduced all around, and then Harry said, “Good to see you, guys, but I came here to hold Cherisse in my arms, not to talk about the good old days.” He said it in such a way that it elicited chuckles from his old friends. “After all,” Harry added, “you two have been happily married for years. I'm still trying to achieve that blissful state.”

“Poor Harry,” said one of his ex-teammates, smiling. “Cherisse, put him out of his misery and marry him.”

“Yes!” exclaimed one of the wives. “And don't forget to invite us to the wedding because
this
we've got to see!”

Harry pulled Cherisse close to his side. “Don't rush her. I'm sure she'll propose when the time's right.” And he smiled into her upturned face.

Cherisse laughed softly and directed her comment to the woman who'd asked for an invitation to the wedding. “Yes. Maybe tonight if he's a good boy.”

With that she and Harry melted into the crowd.

The orchestra was playing “You Send Me,” and the singer, a young attractive African-American guy with short, neat dreadlocks was doing a pretty good imitation of the soul legend Sam Cooke.

After checking their coats, Harry pulled Cherisse onto the dance floor and took her into his arms. Harry sighed with satisfaction. “Thank you for this.”

Cherisse smiled up into his eyes. “For what?” she asked softly.

“You're my fantasy come to life in that dress. I just want to take you somewhere and take it off you and make love to you all night long.”

“I'm glad you like it,” she said. “But let's dance a while first and then go rip each other's clothes off. We did get dressed up.”

The orchestra launched into another Sam Cooke song, “Bring It On Home To Me.”

“Are they doing a tribute to Sam Cooke or something?” Cherisse said. “That's the second song of his they've done since we've been here.”

“What do you know about Sam Cooke?” asked Harry with a teasing smile. “You're too young to know his music.”

“Get real,” said Cherisse. “I have several Cooke CDs. I know lots of his songs.”

She began singing in Harry's ear. Harry couldn't believe it. She had a deep, sexy tone to her voice that had an immediate effect on his…well, he was getting turned on standing there with her voice in his ear.

She sang the entire song and at the end, Harry was ready to sweep her into his arms and carry her out of the ballroom with the entire assemblage watching, knowing exactly where he was going with her and why.

Cherisse innocently smiled up at him at the song's conclusion and said, “Not bad, huh?”

Harry pressed her lower body a little closer to his. She gasped. “Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, I had no idea!”

Harry laughed softly. “Just don't sing anymore and I'll be okay.”

Cherisse batted her eyes at him. “Okay, no more singing until I get you alone.”

Harry was looking up at the entrance. “What the hell?”

Cherisse followed his line of sight. Marcia Shaw had arrived with a short white guy on her arm. Cherisse could guess why Harry had reacted with surprise. Marcia had made a big deal about her and LaShaun Gregory getting back together and she hadn't arrived at the social event of the year with him on her arm. That could mean only one thing—they had broken up again.

“I guess it didn't work out between her and LaShaun,” Cherisse commented without rancor. She had no reason to dislike Marcia Shaw. In fact, she owed her a debt of gratitude: she'd broken up with Harry.

“That guy she's with is the station manager,” Harry said. “Nice guy, but definitely not her type.”

“We're just speculating,” Cherisse said. “Maybe LaShaun was sick tonight and that's why he's not here with her.”

That theory was blown out of the water when, fifteen minutes later, LaShaun strode into the ballroom with a curvaceous sister on his arm in a dress so tight it looked like her breasts were going to break free at any minute.

Cherisse suddenly felt sorry for Marcia Shaw. She bet practically everybody who read the gossip columns knew that she and LaShaun
were
a couple. Now, to have been reduced to attending the ball with her station manager while LaShaun had walked in with someone who looked like a Playboy bunny!

“Okay,” Cherisse said when LaShaun and his date were descending the stairs to the dance floor. “You were right. He isn't at home nursing a cold.”

Harry bent and rubbed his face against hers. “Forget about them. This is our night.”

And Cherisse did just that, dancing with Harry for a good forty minutes to song after song from Sam Cooke's catalog of hits. Harry was a great dancer, he could move smoothly from a fox-trot to a waltz to the jive with ease. They matched each other in ability and stamina. What's more there was such joie de vivre in their dancing that it gave pleasure to those who watched them, as evidenced by the applause from their fellow ball-goers when they got down and dirty to “Twistin' the Night Away.”

They danced the jive to that one, Harry tossing Cherisse over his back as she landed on her feet and came back up twisting sexily and then Harry twirling her around the dance floor on the balls of her sling-backs. It was heavenly, and so smooth, it felt dreamlike in its perfection. She was sure she would never forget this night.

After “Twistin' the Night Away” they agreed that they were in need of liquid refreshment so Harry went off to order them drinks at the bar and await her return from the ladies room.

As always at functions this large there was a line in front of the ladies' room. Cherisse got in line behind several other women in either red or white gowns. She had been standing there a couple of minutes when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned to find Marcia Shaw smiling at her. Marcia wore a white Grecian-style gown and her hair was done up in a French twist. “We meet again,” she said, smiling at Cherisse. “Or to put it more correctly, we meet for the first time. I'm Marcia Shaw.”

She offered Cherisse her hand. Cherisse took it. “Cherisse Washington. I've watched your newscast, you're very good.”

Marcia's smile got broader. “Thank you.” She wiped the smile off her face. “I wanted to apologize for that catty remark of a few weeks ago. I'm sorry. Your hair is lovely, really. I was just in a rotten mood. When your life is in turmoil you tend to lash out at those you think are having a better time of it. I guess Harry told you about me and LaShaun.”

“He expressed concern that you aren't together tonight,” Cherisse admitted.

“It's sad,” Marcia said with a sigh. “You know how you can put so much faith in something that it blinds you to the truth? That's how I was with LaShaun. I bent over backward to be with him. I dealt dirty with Harry because I wanted him back so badly. Then two weeks after we got together again I caught him in bed with the woman he brought to the ball tonight. I feel like a fool. But, you know what? I learned a valuable lesson. You have to always deal with people in a fair and honest way or else it comes back to bite you in the ass.” She laughed shortly. “I can't believe I'm spilling my guts to Harry's new girlfriend. You must think I'm nuts.”