Can't Get Enough (7 page)

She jerked her head back and shoved him away. “What are you doing, Noah?”

He smiled awkwardly. “Huh. Good question.”

“I can’t believe you did that.” She wanted to smack his hand like she would a naughty schoolboy.

He shook his head as if to clear it. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that for a minute there in the rain and under the moonlight you looked so . . .” He shook his head again. “I don’t know. It seemed like the thing to do. Stupid, huh?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“I’m really sorry, Barbara. Look, can we pretend this never happened? I don’t want to ruin our working relationship.”

She thought for a moment. What he had done was shocking and completely out of line. But he really looked embarrassed, and she didn’t want their relationship harmed either. She needed him. “Fine. Just see that it doesn’t happen again.”

He nodded and handed the umbrella back to her. Then he pulled a Redskins cap out of his coat pocket and slipped it over his head.

“You sure you won’t take the umbrella?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine,” he said abruptly.

She hated to part with Noah under such strained terms, but there wasn’t a lot she could do about that. He obviously felt bad. He
should
feel bad. “OK. So, I’ll see you at the office next week.”

“It’ll probably be a few weeks, since I start vacation next week.”

“Oh. Going anyplace special?” she asked.

“Jamaica to visit some relatives.”

“I didn’t realize you had relatives in Jamaica.”

“My father is from there. He moved back after my folks divorced.”

She nodded as he lifted the wet collar to his jacket, gave her a weak smile and jogged up the sidewalk. Barbara’s heart thumped harder with every step he took away from her, and she watched until he rounded a corner and disappeared. What the hell had just happened? That was so unlike Noah.

Then she realized she was standing in a hard rain. She found her car keys and hastily unlocked and opened her car door. She pressed the button to close the umbrella but it was stuck. She pressed again and again, still no luck. “Dammit,” she muttered. “Stupid umbrella.” She was getting soaked, and her hair would be a mess.

She dropped her bag on the driver’s seat and squeezed the button on the umbrella with both hands. Still, it wouldn’t close. She stomped her foot and shook the umbrella, as if that would help. She tried once more to get the button to work and when it didn’t, she threw the umbrella on the sidewalk and hopped into the car.

She slammed the door, sat and stared at the rain as it pounded the pavement. Suddenly she found herself giggling. She covered her mouth. What a night. It had been ages since an attractive man had flirted with her, including her own husband. She had forgotten how giddy it made a woman feel.

She also felt a bit guilty. Not that Noah had kissed her but that she had liked it so much.

She shook her head to clear it. She had no reason to feel guilty. She put a stop to it before things got out of hand. Although why she would feel the slightest amount of guilt when she was married to Bradford Bentley was beyond her. He certainly had no reluctance about doing a lot more than kissing other women. Joan, Vickie, Sabrina, Jolene. And those were just the recent ones she knew about. They ranged from sluts to society women, old to young, married to single and everything in between. Sometimes there were long periods where he seemed to be faithful, and then boom. Another bimbo came along.

Early in their marriage, when Barbara realized that Bradford was never going to quit the womanizing, she made the bottle her companion. Good old Mr. Belvedere had kept her company for many lonely nights until finally she understood that all the booze was making her hurt more.

She didn’t want to leave Bradford. He was the father of her two lovely daughters and a pillar in their community. She enjoyed her lifestyle with him. A part of her still loved him.

But she didn’t want to stoop to Bradford’s level either. Just because he cheated, didn’t mean she should.

She started the car. She had done the right thing by putting a stop to that kiss. Noah was young, attractive, exciting, and for those reasons alone she had to keep him at a distance.

She was glad it would be a couple of weeks before she saw him again. She hoped that by that time, what had happened tonight would have faded in both of their memories, and their relationship could go back to the way it had been before the kiss.

JOLENE OPENED HER eyes and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. It was a ten-foot-high ceiling, as were all the other rooms in her 6,000-square-foot dream house. She had scrimped and saved to build the house, going against Patrick’s wishes. He thought their first 4,000-square-foot house in Silver Lake had been big enough. Her determination to build her dream house had nearly wrecked their marriage.

But it hadn’t. Patrick didn’t even leave when he discovered that she was screwing the architect building the house. It wasn’t until he discovered her affair with Bradford Bentley last summer that Patrick decided he’d had enough. Bradford was his boss and a neighbor. That was too much, even for passive Patrick. So he had quit his job and left his wife.

She sat up in bed and sighed so loudly it was nearly a sob. She hated this fucking house. It seemed that all her problems had begun when she’d moved in here. And now it was being dwarfed by a monstrous mansion going up right across the street. Her damn house looked like a hut standing next to that thing. And no one had any idea who was building it. The Osbournes could be moving in across the street from her for all she knew.

Her Bose clock radio blared, piercing the silent air, and she moaned and touched her forehead. She had a splitting headache. She reached over and smacked the button to shut the radio alarm off, and that was when she noticed the empty bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne and the crystal flute on the nightstand. Now she remembered that last night after Patrick had left she had brought a bottle up to her room and partied by herself. No wonder her fucking head hurt.

She forced herself to sit up. As much as she dreaded going in to work, she had an important business meeting at eleven o’clock. It was at times like this that she despised all the rich ladies in Silver Lake like Barbara Bentley who didn’t have to work because their husbands made insane amounts of money. And here she had to work like a damn slave for the government to make ends meet. Never mind that she was a GS-15 with a staff at her command, it was still work.

She slipped into her Stuart Weitzman animal-print mules and pulled a robe around her black lace teddy. The mules were last year’s style and long overdue for updating. The sexy lingerie was a sad joke since no one was around to see her in it and no one had been for months. These days she felt about as sexy as a withering old maid.

She walked down the hallway and glanced in Juliette’s room as she passed by. Her daughter had been up and out by seven-thirty as usual that Thursday morning to catch the bus to school. Her bedroom looked like a tornado had touched down in the middle of it, with all the outfits she had decided not to wear strewn about and her bed hastily made up. Jolene had learned to do without a lot of new things so she could pay the mortgage and all her other bills, but she tried as much as possible to make sure Juliette had all the clothes and accessories that any teenage girl would want.

Normally she would have rushed in to tidy up after Juliette but she was not in the mood this morning. She needed a quick hit of coffee and a shower. Then she was going to drag herself in to the office.

She opened the front door and walked down the driveway to pick up the morning’s
Washington Post
. Two huge moving vans were parked across the street in front of the new house, but still no sign of the neighbors and only two days left before the big party.

She picked up the paper and glanced at the front page of the Metro section. One of the headlines was about the police lieutenant who had been found dead in his garage from a bullet wound and the wife who had been arrested and charged with his murder. Jolene scanned the article quickly. The house where the body had been found was only a few miles from Silver Lake, and Jolene couldn’t believe something like that had happened so nearby.

It seemed that the man’s wife had admitted that she had hired a hit man to kill her husband for 1 million dollars in life insurance money. The wife was a former stripper turned real estate agent, and her police officer husband made only $75,000 a year. The couple had recently declared bankruptcy and their half-million-dollar house was in foreclosure. The wife had agreed to pay the hit man $200,000 once the trigger was pulled and she had collected on the insurance policy.

A car horn blared and Jolene glanced up to see Ellen Johnson waving as she drove by in a sleek silver Jaguar XJ. Ellen didn’t usually bother speaking to Jolene anymore but she was showing off her shiny new car. Jolene smiled thinly and waved. “Bitch,” she murmured under her breath. Another one of those rich hussies like Barbara Bentley who scrounged off their successful husbands.

Ellen was probably dashing off to the mall to shop for the party or to the country club to shed a few pounds so she could fit her fat ass into her new ball gown. It seemed that everyone was going to the party Saturday night, even Patrick and Pearl.
Everyone but her
. Sometimes she didn’t understand why the hell she stayed in Silver Lake. Living around all these wealthy suburban housewives was too damn depressing.

She walked back in the house, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat at the kitchen table to finish the article about the murder for hire. Declaring bankruptcy and having the bank foreclose on your house must be awful. Patrick had often worried that something like that would happen to them if she didn’t curb her spending habits. They struggled to pay their bills at times Jolene knew, but they were nowhere near as desperate as the cop and ex-stripper had seemed. Still, how could anyone be stupid enough to think that such a drastic step would solve their problems? That greedy cop’s wife was in more trouble than ever now.

She remembered her Maryland Lotto ticket from the previous day and dug out the Metro section of the paper. Then she stood and walked up the stairs, taking along her coffee mug. She had been too depressed after Patrick left last night to watch the drawing on television. No doubt the ticket would be a losing ticket just like all the others and just like her sorry life.

She entered the bedroom, set her coffee mug down on the nightstand next to the champagne bottle, and dug the ticket out of her Coach bag. The bag was beginning to look shabby, with frayed threads on the shoulder strap. There was a time when she would have replaced the bag with a new one months earlier but she would probably just have it repaired. She had to be thrifty these days.

She held the ticket in one hand, the newspaper in the other, and moved her eyes back and forth as she compared the six numbers. She noticed almost immediately that the numbers were very close. She rubbed her eyes to clear them and compared each of the numbers again, one by one. When she was done, she stopped and blinked. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought it would sprint right out of her chest. All six numbers matched. Not two or three or four.
All of them!

She found herself choking. She sat on the bed and took a sip of coffee. Calm down, girl, she told herself as she fanned her face.

She banged the coffee mug down on the nightstand, jumped up, opened all the blinds, turned on all the lights and slowly studied the numbers again. When she finished, she ran to the middle of the bedroom floor and raised her arms to the ceiling.

“Sweet Jesus!” she yelled. She had just won $5 million. She screamed.

THE LONG DRIVEWAY curved gracefully to the top of the hillside on Peacock Lane and ended at a circle decorated with a massive lighted fountain.

Bradford pulled up in his silver Jaguar XK, and a uniformed parking attendant opened the door on Barbara’s side. The attendant extended a gloved hand as Barbara placed a satin heel down on the pavement. She was pleasantly surprised to discover a smooth black carpet beneath her foot. She had attended many glamorous affairs, large and small, hosted by top government officials and Bradford’s wealthy business clients, but this was her first carpeted walkway.

Bradford walked around the car, and she took his arm as the attendant drove off to park. They smiled at each other but didn’t utter a word. They didn’t need to. She knew from the extra sprint in Bradford’s step and the sparkle in his eyes that he was immensely impressed with what he’d seen so far.

As they climbed the wide staircase to the front door, Barbara looked up to see the most elegantly decorated stone and stucco mansion she had ever seen in P.G. County, let alone Silver Lake. It was in the style of a French chateau, with turrets soaring toward the dark evening sky, graceful arches, and windows with diamond-shaped panes. Whoever built this magnificent mansion had elevated Silver Lake to a new lofty status as the premiere black community in America.

The Bentleys reached the landing, and Barbara subtly adjusted her Russian sable stole across her shoulders. The copper-colored wrap had been last year’s gift from Bradford for their thirty-first wedding anniversary, and Barbara thought it was perfect for such an occasion at this time of year. It was a chilly spring night, not cold enough for one of her full-length mink coats but too blustery to go out without something. The stole also nicely complemented her black Bill Blass evening gown.

She smiled at Bradford as he lifted his arm and reached for the door chime. He looked extremely handsome in his new Brioni tuxedo. Even after more than thirty years of marriage, raising two daughters and the many highs and lows they had been through, she still found him sexy. She couldn’t count the times she had spotted him across a crowded room at a party or charity event and felt proud that the most magnetic man in the room was her husband.

She still had a good figure herself and barely a wrinkle on her face. But as she and Bradford aged, they had to work hard at staying fit and looking youthful. She worked out regularly and routinely used all the latest in creams and lotions. Bradford lifted weights nightly in the exercise room in their house.

In contrast, Noah was still young enough not to have to worry about staying fit. He played a lot of tennis, and . . .

She caught herself. How in the world had Noah crept into her thoughts just now? She was attending a glamorous society event with her successful and much admired husband beside her—and here she was thinking about a young schoolteacher. Ever since that kiss, she found her thoughts drifting to Noah at the oddest moments even though she hadn’t seen him since that night. She had to stop this. He was probably in Jamaica now, sunning and partying with beautiful young women. He certainly wasn’t thinking about
her
. Barbara shook her head to clear it.

A middle-aged black man with a clean-shaved head opened the front door and stepped aside as they entered a large foyer with inlaid marble floors and a vaulted cathedral ceiling. Hostesses at many of the private parties they attended hired temporary butlers for the evening, herself included, Barbara thought as the man graciously took her stole. But she had a feeling that this butler was a permanent fixture in the household.

He led them across the foyer, under an arch, and down a short flight of stairs where they were met by an elderly white man. They followed this servant down a long corridor lined with paintings, and Barbara recognized the works of Jacob Lawrence, Ossawa Tanner, William H. Johnson, and other prominent African-American artists. She and Bradford owned a few paintings by talented black artists such as Alix Baptiste of Savannah and Lisa Quinn from Bermuda, and even one prized Jacob Lawrence painting. But Barbara had never seen such an extensive collection of art by top black artists outside of a museum. She and Bradford exchanged quick glances of admiration.

Barbara’s mind raced as they rounded a corner and walked down yet another corridor. It seemed likely that the owners were African American given their taste in artwork. But who could they be? A celebrity such as an actor or a sports star? Maybe a prominent black businessman like Robert Johnson, founder of Black Entertainment Television based in Washington, D.C.? Or perhaps it was, as Pearl had heard through the rumor mill at her salon, a black woman who had married European royalty.

All the possibilities were thrilling, and Barbara felt butterflies dancing in her stomach as the servant stopped in front of a set of hand-carved wood double doors. He opened them, stepped aside, and bowed as Barbara and Bradford entered a large chandeliered room. It had a towering stone fireplace at one end and a grand wrought-iron stairway with stone detailing at the other. Best of all, the room was filled with many of the residents of Silver Lake and Prince George’s County.

Barbara noticed Bradford staring into the room with open fascination. He was not an easy man to impress. It was usually others who stood in awe of Bradford’s accomplishments and possessions, and Barbara was dying to know who was responsible for putting this expression on her husband’s face. Not to mention her own.

PATRICK PULLED INTO a parking space about a block away from the mansion on the hillside and took Pearl’s hand as they walked up the long driveway. Pearl wasn’t thrilled about trekking up a long hill in an evening gown and heels, but so many cars were parked along Peacock Lane that there didn’t seem to be much choice. It looked like everyone in Silver Lake was attending this affair.

As soon as they reached the end of the driveway, Pearl realized that they had already committed gaffe number one when she saw the parking attendants. Drat. They should have expected attendants at a party like this. She and Patrick looked at each other and rolled their eyes to the sky. It looked like it was going to be a long awkward evening.

She forgot their faux pas as soon as she stepped onto the carpeted walkway leading to the front door and looked up at the mansion. The place looked even bigger and more elegant close up, with all sorts of the kinds of doodads that appear in magazines like
Architectural Digest
. Pearl didn’t know the terms for all this fancy stuff, but it was mind-blowing nevertheless, especially the big lighted fountain at the entrance. The whole thing looked beautiful against the clear night sky.

It was nearly enough to make her forget that she might have to face Jolene Brown with Patrick on her arm. Jolene had called Patrick the day before claiming that she had won millions in the Maryland lottery and that she might see him at the party. When Pearl thought about Jolene winning a pile of money, it made her shake her head. Jolene was the last person to deserve something like that.

Patrick had tried to assure Pearl that Jolene had gotten past her ill feelings in the year since he’d left her and started seeing Pearl. But Pearl wasn’t convinced, especially after their encounter at the country club earlier that week. Women like Jolene always had long spiteful memories.

Still, she was dying to see inside the mansion that had been going up in Silver Lake all these months. She was thankful to Barbara for calling the president of the Silver Lake Neighborhood Association. He had made several calls and got Pearl an invite within a matter of hours, and now she was finally going to find out who lived here. At one point, she and many others thought it had to be Michael Jordan. Not many African Americans in Maryland had this kind of dough. But Wizards owner Abe Pollin had fired Jordan, and the basketball star split from the city. So much for that theory.

One of her salon clients had insisted that the owners were royalty. Pearl thought that seemed far-fetched. She knew how often the rumors she heard at her salon turned out to be false. The people who built this mansion might not even be black for all she knew. Still, somebody big and important had built this place, and it was exciting to be a part of it.

In the foyer, she eagerly removed her black coat. It was her best lightweight coat, but it looked silly with a long dress. She needed a stole or formal jacket but she certainly wasn’t going to spend her hard-earned money on a new fancy coat for this one affair. It would be a lifetime, maybe never, before she got invited to a mansion like this again. Heck, this thing was more like a castle, she thought as she looked up at the vaulted ceiling in the foyer. It dwarfed all the other houses in Silver Lake, even Barbara Bentley’s.

She reluctantly handed her coat to the butler, fully expecting him to smirk or something. But he was cool about it, and Pearl realized that he was far too professional to smirk at a guest. She and Patrick followed yet another man past several paintings and sculptures, most by black artists. How impressive, she thought. She took Patrick’s hand and squeezed it to keep from pointing and oohing like a fool. He smiled and gave her an “OK, calm down” look.

The servant stopped at a massive set of double doors and opened them with a grand gesture. It was all Pearl could do to keep from giggling. She felt like she was in a movie.

The servant stepped aside and allowed Pearl and Patrick to pass by, and this time Pearl gasped aloud. She couldn’t help it. She had never seen so much glitter and glamour. There was a big, sparkling chandelier, a fireplace that seemed to reach to the sky, and a beautiful long staircase. The room was filled with women in elegant ball gowns and fine jewelry and men in designer tuxedoes. She was eager to learn who had put all this together.