Until (21 page)

“You're sick,” Drew said, laughing. “Just lean back, love, and enjoy the ride.”

Drew continued driving for about a mile through the thicket until they reached a clearing with a large oak tree at its center. Beneath the oak was a picnic basket, and tied to the tree was a large brown and white mare.

“Oh no. Andrew, this is,” she said, forming a circle with her lips, “too much. How did you get the horse out here? And what about the picnic basket? Are those fresh flowers on the ground beside it, and how did you know which direction the wind would be blowing, and how—”

“Zelma? Please hush,” Drew said, looking at the expression on her face. “I just knew you had been putting in a lot of hours and so I wanted to get you away from the rat race and all. Give you time to just lie out under a tree and relax for a few hours and catch your breath. Is that okay?”

Looking Drew in the eyes, she leaned toward him and kissed him on the jaw. A pinky's width from his lips she said, “You really don't know how much this means to me.”

“You're welcome.” And then Drew took her hand and whispered, “I have only one request for today, okay? This is a date for two
friends.
Therefore, Vince and Felicia are not invited. Deal?”

“You know, Andrew, you are so amazing.”

First Drew showed Zelma all the items he had packed for their day together. He had even brought the imported white seedless grapes and smoked Gouda cheese she'd mentioned in one of their conversations that she liked so much, and a bottle of her favorite white wine. Drew mounted the horse, then reached down and pulled her up in front of him. As they rode, she leaned into his chest a little more than she had to, and he squeezed her much closer than was necessary. The field was lush, the wind gently blew the tall stalks of grass, and the only sight on the horizon was a Winslow Homer-like burnt orange barn in the distance.

After the ride, Drew and Zelma returned to the clearing, ate lunch, and talked about their dreams, their ambitions, and their goals. Never did comments surrounding their past relationships come to the table, and it was not as difficult to keep the ghosts away as either of them had expected.

“You know what?” Zelma said from her place on the blanket as she ate grapes and looked up at the green leaves of the large, oak tree. “I have never done anything like this in my life. I mean where I grew up, you saw this as something people only do in movies.” She paused and looked
at Drew before adding, “That was the first time I rode a horse. Could you tell?”

“Yeah, and I got the fingernail marks in my wrist to prove it.”

“Stop lying,” she laughed. “Seriously, though, thanks for bringing me out here, and thanks for
not
telling me where we were going, because I would have most definitely thought of an excuse not to show up.” She stopped chewing as she looked up at the clouds above. “You know what I miss most about a relationship?”

“What?”

“Having someone there. Not in a sexual way or necessarily at my house or what have you, because except for those few weeks with Vince, I have been on my own since I was seventeen. I mean not having someone to call and check in with if you are going to make it home late and all. Usually,” she said, sliding a grape between her lips, “when we find out we have to work late at the office, everybody is complaining and running to the phone to rearrange their plans or contact sitters. You know what I do? I don't want to be left out, so sometimes I call my house just to check my messages. And sometimes I don't even have any damn messages,” she said with a melancholy tone in her voice. “One time I had car trouble out on 1-75 headed here from Atlanta. A fan belt or something, I think. It was past midnight and my cell was not working for some reason. I was about five miles from the next exit and I wasn't about to hitch a ride. So I walked to a hotel back at the last exit. By the time I got there, I was exhausted. I was sweaty and had broken both of my heels. My hair was standing on end, and of course, I get to the counter and the clerk who helped me asked what happened. When I told him, he said, ‘Well, ma'am, here's a phone. Would you like to call someone to let them know you are okay?' He was just being nice, but, Drew, I almost lost it on the spot. I couldn't think of one . . . damn . . . person to call.”

“It's tough,” he said after a pause. “It's real tough at times. But it will make you appreciate the good times when they come along, I guess.”

Zelma shook her head, looked at Drew, and said, “I'm
sorry. I don't know why I went there. I just wanted to say thanks for what you did for me today. I needed this.”

“You're welcome. Well, we have a couple of hours left of sunlight,” Drew said, looking up at the sky and inhaling the brisk air surrounding them. “What would you like to do?”

His mind immediately went to sex, but Zelma dug her toes into the soft grass, put the ball back in his court, and said, “No, you have done an okay job with this date-planning thing. I'll let you make the call.”

“Let's go back to my place,” Drew said before he could pull back the words. And then he softened it by adding, “I rented
Love Jones
from Blockbuster and I have to take it back tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Zelma said with a smile. “That sounds like a plan.”

As they walked through the door, Drew went to his answering machine to check for messages. As he glanced from his kitchen to see Zelma admiring his decor, he was tom between offering her a glass of tea and a movie or a taste of wine in front of the fireplace. When she asked him about his music collection, he answered her question and thought,
It's the only way to get over her. It's the only way I can get on with my life.

“I like your place, Drew. I never knew you were into both Biggie Smalls and acid jazz, and are those Annie Lee prints?”

“Yes,” he said from the kitchen where he was pouring two glasses of wine. “I picked them up at an exhibit last year. Do you like?”

“Impressive. Your house looks warm. Not like a bachelor pad.”

“Well, what were you expecting, bean bags and a big pool table in the living room or something?”

Zelma exclaimed, “Damn, Andrew, you have a screened-in pool? Man, I'm in the wrong line of work.”

“This is for you,” he said, walking up behind her with a glass of Chardonnay. Zelma turned toward him slowly, moved aside his hand holding the drink, and kissed him. This kiss was anything but a friendship kiss and was much
more than anything they had shared before. When their lips parted he held the wineglass softly in his cupped hand between two fingers, and rocked it to a swirl before he blindly placed it on the end table. After a brief pause to heighten the moment, he then wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss with passion.

“Andrew?” she said, breaking away a moment and looking into his eyes. “What about the movie?”

“Saw it before. They fall in love in the end,” Drew said, and leaned her back to reclaim her lips. He felt Zelma shake as he moved his hands from her back, grazed her erect nipple, and then held her face gently.

As he did so, Zelma looked down and whispered, “Andrew, do you think you're ready for this? I mean, seriously. Let's not start something we can't finish. Do you really think you're ready to take this step?”

“Yes,” he said, and kissed her sweetly on her forehead. “I want to be with you. I want to hold you. I want to be held by you.” Then he grasped her face and looked back and forth at each of her eyes. “Zelma. Zelma, you have done more for me in the past couple of days than I thought anyone could do. I had so many doubts about myself, but you've helped me find something in me I thought was lost. Do you know how long it has been since I've even poured two glasses of wine? I know I'm ready for this. I just hope you are.”

As she moved back from Drew, Zelma smiled, took off her shoes, and headed for the pool area. When she did so, Drew went into the kitchen to retrieve some items to make their encounter unforgettable. He and Felicia had made love in the same pool on many occasions, and if he was to weed her out of his mind, he was now convinced that this was the evening to take a giant step toward doing so.

Zelma bounced on her toes in the pool. Then the lights went out and the pool area was completely darkened. “Andrew,” Zelma said with expectation in her voice as she heard the clinking of glass, “what are you up to?”

Drew stood silently at the head of the pool, watching Zelma as waves of expectation rushed through his body and
moonlight cut across the water like a razor. From the silence came the rip of a match being struck and its accompanying blaze. The illumination pierced the darkness with a red flame which turned to orange, then to yellow, but remained blue at its base. Drew lit the tip of a candle and sheltered its burn by cupping his hand around it as he walked and set it at the pool's corner. He then repeated the action and set the next candle at the opposite end of the water. Feeling her eyes upon him, Drew paused and glanced back at his guest. As he smiled at her, his heart pumped faster and he could feel sensations inside that left goose bumps on his forearms. He moved to the head of the pool and brought the fire close to a large candle. Zelma watched him intently as he slowly brought the heat to the wick without breaking eye contact with her. Realizing what was missing to make the moment even more special, he abruptly walked away.

“Hey! Hey, Andrew! What's up! Where you going?” Zelma called.

There was silence in the house until music flowed from the speakers surrounding the pool like honey from its comb. Drew returned to the pool to find Zelma with her eyes closed. As he sang the lyrics to “Do Me Baby” Zelma opened her eyes and said,
“On se plaire fera moi?”

“Cute, but I told you my college French was rusty.”

Closing her eyes again, she said over the music, “I said, you
enjoy
torturing me like this, don't you?”

“Yes,” he replied. “How can you tell?” And then Drew pulled out his belt and allowed his pants to settle at his feet. The clink of his buckle was heard as it hit the concrete, and Zelma looked at him as he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his rippled stomach, and tossed it aside. While inside his excitement stirred, it was not shown on his face as he eased into the pool, never breaking eye contact with her. Drew swam toward the middle of the pool, and with every stroke he felt himself want her more. Wanting to hold her and stroke her and feel her caress over his body. He knew inside if this night was memorable, it could obliterate some of the haunting memories of the past.

“Damn, baby, damn,” Zelma purred. “Andrew, what are you doing to me?”

As he got closer to her, Drew's head disappeared underwater.

“Andrew? What are you doing? Why are you under—”

And then Drew softly allowed his kiss to glide from the top of her foot up to her knee over her thigh until it rested at the center of her white silk panties. He could feel her tense body relax as he softly kissed her twice in the same spot and then slid his elongated kiss up to her navel and between her cleavage. His tongue followed the soft lines of her neck under her jaw and ended on her lips. He held her body close to his as the bitter months of confusion and frustration dissipated.

“Damn, baby, damn,” Zelma repeated. “If that's the appetizer . . . Andrew, I don't know . . . if I could handle your main course. Andrew, why?” she said between gasps of air. “Why are you doing this . . . to me?”

“Zee, the night is just beginning. Tonight,” he said, kissing her on the forehead, “any fantasy you have
ever
had, we can make come true.” And then Drew leaned her head back into the dark blue shimmering waters and left evenly spaced kisses up her shoulder, inching his way toward her neck.

“Andrew, Andrew, Andrew,” Zelma managed to say through clenched teeth.

“What, baby?”

“Bite me, baby. Bite me now,” she said, and leaned her head to the side, “right there, baby.”

Drew paused and smiled. “You'd like that, huh?”

“Oh God, I love that. Bite me, baby. Bite me hard, please, right there.”

Drew held her close as their torsos kissed underwater and bit her firmly on the base of her neck. Zelma closed her eyes tightly and tried to make a sound, but none would come out. And then in one motion she managed to draw him still closer and wrapped her legs around his waist. Drew then brought her away from the edge and leaned her head toward the water. After she dipped her hair, Zelma gazed at him with an I'm-ready look in her eyes, but all he saw was Felicia and the way she'd looked their first night in the house.

Drew closed his eyes tightly and submerged his head to kiss Zelma's hardened nipples, but it was too late. His heart was pounding, and although he was in the pool, his mouth was so dry his tongue stuck to the roof. Zelma was only there physically; otherwise it was he and Felicia in the pool again.
I can't do this,
he thought. Drew's head came from the water and he held back. His breathing became labored and he could feel his excitement wilt.

“Andrew? Andrew, baby, what's wrong?”

He looked at her and shook his head. “I can't do it,” he whispered. “I can't do this.”

“Baby,” she said, attempting to calm her breathing. “Andrew? Baby, I know it's hard, but this is the first step. Baby, you can do this. You know Rome wasn't built—”

“Getcha clothes.” Drew lifted his nude body from the pool. “I'll give you a ride home,” he said, leaving a trail of wet footprints from the pool to his living room.

Betty brought her
head up from her files long enough to notice it was 10:15
A.M.
and another morning had passed during which she had not spoken to her prince. The morning “I just called to say I love you” calls were fewer and much further in between as she reminded herself that he was subconsciously pulling away because of her obligations.
That's fine,
she thought as she scribbled notes on a legal pad regarding the case. Jury selection was scheduled to began in three days, and the trial the following week.
God knows I don't need the distractions now anyway.

“Hello! I mean Ms. Robinson. May I help you?” she said after she grabbed the phone on the half ring.

“Girl, you got it bad!”

“Please, Jac. I knew it wasn't him.”

“Ah, Betty? You didn't even give the phone a chance to ring. That was an
I hope this is Vander
answer if I ever heard one.”

“Okay, okay, you got me,” she said dropping her pen on the stack of files and sliding them from in front of her. “I don't know. I mean . . . I know why he's doing what he's doing and I can rationalize that until I'm blue in the face, but I still miss him.” She grimaced. “Seems I need him more now that I have this case than I needed him before.”

“When's the last time he sent you flowers? I never hear you mention that anymore.”

“Don't ask.”

“Betty, that reason he gave you a while back is BS and I trust you're not seriously trying to make sense out of it I know you wanna believe it, and if you keep repeating it to yourself, you just might, but you don't just turn love on and off like that”

“I know, but like I said before, it also has to be fifty-fifty, and I haven't done my part.”

“If that gets you through the night, go for it, but I'm telling you something's up with him. I can't put my finger on it, but something ain't right. How often you all doing it?”

“Don't ask.”

“Well, honey, just like that song says, if you want to know if he loves you . . . it's in his kiss.”

As Jacqui said the words, Betty thought of the encounter that had left her crying on the floor of her shower. With the phone held to her ear with her shoulder, she rolled her chair away from her desk, crossed her legs, and drummed her fingertips on her knee distractedly. She could feel the soft muscles around her mouth tense, ready to hold back her tears, as Jacqui said, “Betty? You there?”

After a protracted pause Jacqui continued, “Listen. Why don't I bring you some lunch? I can tell by your voice you're busy, and it ain't no use in trying to pry you out of that office today.”

“Thanks, but that's okay. I brought lunch.”

“Put it in the fridge. I'll see you around one.”

“Jacqui? I understand what you're doing, but I'm okay. Seriously. I'm fine.” And then as a gentleman stuck his head in her door, Betty froze and said, “Ah, Ms. Jordan? May I call you back around noon? Possibly we can pencil something in for this afternoon.”

“Okay, sweetie, I know you got company, but I will see you
today
at lunch.”

“Yes, that is confirmed. We'll speak then.” Hanging up the phone, Betty said, “Mr. Renfro, how are you? May I help you?”

Walking in her office, he said, “Very impressive,” as he looked at her awards.

Betty noticed an envelope cupped in his palm that he would occasionally pat against his thigh.

“So,” he said, peering at a photo, “I see Jack introduced you to the governor.”

“Well, sir, actually I clerked for Governor Todd when I worked in the SOB for two summers.”

With a quizzical look he glanced at Betty and said, “The SO . . . oh, the Senate Office Building. Right. I never knew that. I never knew you clerked in Tallahassee. Well, I'll be damned,” he said, and took a seat. “So you and the governor go way back, huh?”

He's getting just a little too excited about this,
Betty thought as she watched him take a seat and rub his hand slowly over the ivory envelope in his lap. “He's a nice gentleman. Ambitious as heck,” she said softly, “but he and his wife are as nice as can be.”

“Well,” Renfro continued in his awkward search for conversation, “he's in the GOP. Are you?”

“Sir? Is there something I can get for you?” Betty asked to put an end to the madness. “A file or anything for the meeting tomorrow?”

“No. No, I'm fine,” he said, and stood up. “I was just down here and thought I would stop in to say hello.”

As he departed, Betty leaned back, completely bemused. And then he looked back in the door and said, “Ah, Robinson? Do you have a couple of minutes?”

“Sir?”

“Do you have a moment? I would like to talk to you if you have the time. Let's go for a walk.”

“You know, I've always loved the springtime,” Renfro said as he opened the door to the parking garage and wheezed a lungful of air. As they walked out on the concrete slab, Betty listened intently to each of his words. “When we moved here from Wisconsin in the sixties, I had no idea I would even like it. I mean, I loved the snow,” he said with a nervous stare around to see if anyone was watching them talk. “I loved getting up early to shovel my wife's car out
and putting down the rock salt. Ahh, the smell of rock salt,” he reminisced. “I bet you these guys in Florida never even heard of the stuff. To me it was enjoyable for some reason. Gave me time to plan my day. But here in the South, hell, it's summer year-round.”

“Umm,” Betty said as she noticed the tight grasp he had on the perspiration-stained envelope with the blurred blue ink.

“Yes, it's good down here in the South. But I miss the white stuff after all these years.” And then Renfro looked at Betty and said, “Robinson, I've been Wanting to talk to you for a few reasons.” As they reached the end of the parking lot a soft breeze blew the fragrance from the potted flowering trees in their direction. Renfro looked down at the concrete bench, pulled out his handkerchief, spread it out, and gestured for Betty to sit beside him. As she did so, he said, “I've watched you work these last couple of weeks. As you know, before all this commotion started, I was so busy running the firm I didn't keep track of the associates. But I just wanted to tell you, you've got
it.
Whatever
it
is. You have
it.
I saw it in Murphy, Collins used to have it when he was in the firm more, and you have that same . . . that same stuff.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I watched you jump into this case with both feet and you put us in an incredible position to negotiate. Not many partners, if the truth be known, could have done a better job.”

While she wanted to ask,
Well, why didn't I get the partnership,
instead she said, “Thank you.”

Renfro ran his liver-spotted fingers through his bristly blond crew cut and said, “Also, the reason I asked you out here is because . . .” Then he handed her the envelope. Betty opened it and then looked at him as she unfolded the document inside. As she read it Renfro said, “After talking to Collins and a number of the other partners, we felt it was the only practical thing to do. This way everyone walks away happy, and that is really the essence of mediation. Everyone should—”

“We settled for twenty-five million?”

The apologetic tone of Renfro's voice left as he said, “Yes. Yes we did, Robinson.”

“But what happened to the previous offer? We were talking sixty just last week. Burt said we had a shot at sixty-five. Since we obtained even more new information.”

“Those plans changed. Now, that's all I can say.”

He sold those ladies out because he was too weak to take it to trial,
Betty thought as tension knotted in her stomach. She lifted her chin to meet his icy gaze with a stare. “So
you
sold them out. Is that what you're saying,
sir
?”

Renfro stood up and said, “No, what I'm saying is the
partners
met and the
partners
decided what was right in this case for the parties involved. Now, I know you've worked hard on this matter,” he said, gazing down at Betty. “But that's how it works sometimes. There are some things they don't teach you in law school. One of them is that the path of least resistance is at times the only practical path to take.” And then Renfro turned to limp away and said, “Have those files on my desk by—”

“
Jack
. . . would never have done that!”

Renfro stopped, and as he turned slowly, Betty could hear the gravel under his leather soles. “What did you say?”

Betty stood up, picked up his handkerchief with her fingertips, and said, “Mr. Renfro, you and I both know that
Jack
would never have done that.” As she handed him the swatch of white cloth, she continued, “Jack would have ensured that ABL would never have allowed what happened to occur again. Jack would have done the right thing regardless of the money. He would have put Alice Vincent on the stand to tell the court her story. How her husband left her and her three little children months after she lost her womanhood. He would have told them about Rachel Perry, who is still in therapy years after the fact. That is what
Jack
would have done. He would have ensured that there would never be another Alice or Rachel.”

Renfro looked away with a half smile and mumbled, “You people kill me.” And then he raised his voice to say, “You know, Ms. Robinson, you would have done a great job in front of that jury. I mean when those bla— I mean when that jury got to see you in action it would have been impressive.”

As the words left his lips, Betty's heart sank as she thought,
You people, huh? So it was because of color.
Being the
best had proven not to be enough. She was still seen as just a color. With alarm and anger rippling along her spine but not in her face, Betty stood tall.

“You know, you have a bright future in this firm. A
very
bright future.”

“Sir, are you referring to a partnership? I want to clearly understand what you mean by a
very
bright future.”

“Well, Robinson, what else could I mean? We did that search and you were one of the top people we came up with.”

“Then why did the partnership go to Patterson?”

“Because our hand was forced. Jack put it in the contract when we recruited him from up north. Believe me when I say if I had my way, we would never have—”

“So when, sir. When will I get this partnership?”

“Well, actually, Robinson, now that this case is over, I can see it happening within the next six months.”

Betty swallowed as the words she had wanted to hear for so long settled in her mind. She could for a brief moment picture her portrait hanging on the wall with the other partners in the reception area. She could feel the joy she would have relishing the moment with Evander and Jacqui and sharing with them that she was the first woman of color to achieve such a status in the history of the firm. She no longer had to depend on rumors, because now the senior partner had told her the promotion was imminent. And then she thought of the ladies who had gone through the needless surgeries so that a group of attorneys could now celebrate the three million dollars they had earned for the firm.

With a polite smile she said, “Thank you, Mr. Renfro. I really appreciate the fact that you can see I have
earned
a partnership with Murphy, Renfro and Collins. But, sir, you can take that partnership and . . .”

“You told him to do what?”

Lying on the couch in Jacqui's office with her forearm over her eyes, Betty replied, “It's not funny, girl. For the first time in my life I'm unemployed.”

“I'm sorry, Betty. I mean . . .” And then Jacqui burst out laughing again and said, “You really told him that? Those exact words? Even the part about him being a racist?”

“It's not funny, Jac.”

Jacqui noticed her friend's blank expression and whirled her chair over to the couch. “Listen, Betty. I'm making a little fun of all of this, but you did the right thing.”

“Jacqui,” she replied as she opened her eyes and looked at her friend. “I just bought a house a couple of months ago. I have a car payment, Visa, Diners, student loans I'm
still
paying off, you name it.”

“You have some savings, don't you?”

Betty sighed heavily, looked at the ceiling, and said, “Yeah. I have some retirement money plus the 401K at work, which I
don't
want to touch. But—”

“Girl, I have a little something set aside. We'll pull through this. Trust me when I say, you did the right thing.”

“I know. But it's not supposed to be this way. When you follow the rules, attend law school, pay your bills, pay your taxes, go to church, it's not supposed to be like this. When all the girls were out partying in college, what was I doing? The right thing. When people were advancing to partnership all around me, what was I doing? The right thing. Well, look where the right thing has gotten me. I'm thirty-two, unemployed, and unmarried.”