Joy (14 page)
Sasha sucked her teeth. “I ain't thinking about Braxton and, if you were being honest, neither are you.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Okay, don't get your Fruit of the Looms in a snit.” She bounced from the desk, and adjusted her skirt. “Well, I've got to go. Find some trouble of my own. I'm meeting Hunter this morning.”
Anya crossed her arms. “Be careful, Sasha. Hunter's just looking to add another notch to his belt. He's not interested in anything else.”
“Then, we're perfect; it's about how many notches I can put on
my
belt.”
She picked up her purse and took a long look in the mirror on the back of the door. Nodding, she waved at Anya. “See ya! I'll call.”
Anya leaned her head against the window and looked onto the street below. Cars darted around slow-moving trucks, and buses merged from the curb. It was confusion—exactly the way she felt right now. What was she going to do about Sasha? First, there were these delusions about David, and now Hunter Blaine. If Sasha thought she had escaped madness in Chicago, there was no telling what kind of psychiatric assistance she would need after Hunter. She needed to keep Sasha away from him, and if she had to, she would tell Sasha what she knew—she should never be alone with that man.
Anya returned to her desk, and did the only thing she knew how to do at disturbing times like these. She prayed.
“I'm sorry, Anya, but I can't go along with this. We should take as few people as possible to Linden. Just David, Geena, and me. Any more people will just bring confusion.”
David leaned forward to say something, but Anya held up her hand. “The only way there'll be confusion is if our people are not trained. And everyone in this agency is very well trained. I'm making the decision, Alaister. Melissa's team will join you.”
His blue eyes became darker as he twisted his face in disgust. “It's not fair, Anya. I did all the work and now I have to share it with another manager. Where was Melissa when I was crunching numbers every weekend for the last four weeks?”
Anya's eyes moved to the motivational poster just behind Alaister's head. It showed a group of men and women rowing a boat. The words above the picture read: TOGETHER EVERYONE ACHIEVES MORE:It was her favorite poster—a concept she promoted in her business. Alaister had been with her long enough to know how she would feel about this, and she wondered why he was pushing.
After a long pause, Anya said, “Alaister, this is no different from the time your team went with Melissa to the city of Inglewood. I didn't hear you complaining then.”
Alaister slumped in his chair.
“Let's move on,” she said emphatically, looking directly at Alaister, who kept his gaze down on the table. “Okay, guys”—she turned to the others who had sat silently during the exchange—”you've done a great job on this. Let's deliver more to Linden than we promised.”
There was a knock on the door. Dianna stepped in tentatively. “Anya, is this meeting almost over?”
“What is it?” Anya's tone was impatient.
“I'm sorry, but you have a call.”
Anya frowned. Dianna was instructed to interrupt only in an emergency. “Who is it?”
Dianna clutched the door as her eyes searched the room for an ally. “It's Braxton and it must be important, because he's called several times. And now, he's been holding for almost ten minutes.”
Anya picked up her folders from the conference table. “Tell him I'll be right there.” Turning to David she said, “Can we meet in five minutes?”
She stomped down the hall to her office, steam building with every step.
“This is Anya,” she said into the phone.
“I've been trying to reach you since yesterday.”
“I was in a meeting, Braxton.” Her voice was tight. “And I'm upset that Dianna interrupted me.” Anya raised her voice so that her assistant could hear.
“I told her this was important. I called you last night till midnight and there was no answer.”
She had turned the telephone ringer off the moment she and Sasha had gone into the house to avoid Madear. But it wasn't until this moment that she realized it was probably to keep Braxton away too. “Sasha needed to talk and I didn't want to be interrupted.”
“I need to talk to you, too.”
“I can't talk, Braxton, I'm at work.”
“Why are you mad now? I thought we fixed everything yesterday.”
“I'm mad because I'm at work and you're interrupting me with something I can't handle right now.” She heard coughing behind her and turned. She shook her head and David left her office. “Braxton,” she said in a lower voice, “I've got to go. I have another meeting.”
“We still have to talk. Pastor Ford told us that in counseling, and since counseling was
your
idea, I think you should follow the rules.”
Anya was tempted to hang up the phone, but she knew that would only incite him. “I'll call you later.”
“What time?”
“I'm going to hang up now, Braxton.”
But before Anya could hang up, she heard the drone of the dial tone. Shaking her head, she fell into her chair. “Should I come back later?”
Anya looked up. “No, now's fine.” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
David closed the door. “Anything you want to talk about?”
She shook her head. “Do you have the group reviews?” she asked wearily.
“I do, but I can be a friend if you need an ear.”
“I don't need a friend,” she snapped, then she softened her voice and tried to flash a smile. “I'm sorry, it's just that the best thing for me right now is to get back to work.”
He nodded in understanding and laid the papers across her desk. David started summarizing each report but, like yesterday in church, Anya's ears clogged.
Everything is going to be all right—she repeated the mantra in her head. My business is fine, my relationship is fine, and anything negative that I'm feeling is going to go away.
But the mantra in her head did not match the words hidden in her heart.
C
ome home with me There's something”—Hunter licked —-”a chocolate-covered strawberry— “I want to show you.” He nuzzled against Sasha's neck.
They had come to the Arena Club in the Staples Center after a whirlwind afternoon. First, an early lunch at Serendipity, then they returned Anya's car and were taken by limousine into Beverly Hills, where they strolled Rodeo Drive and the surrounding streets. All afternoon, she tried on clothes and modeled for Hunter, loving the way his eyes devoured her. When they stopped at the St. John's boutique and she strutted across the floor in a cream tank dress that hugged her, Hunter pulled out his platinum card. Sasha protested; he insisted, saying that he knew just the way she could repay him.
Now, they were surrounded by Hollywood types—actors, talk-show hosts, music stars—all waiting for the Lakers game to begin. But their surroundings didn't stop Hunter from his public display of affection.
As his tongue tickled her neck, Sasha pulled back. Though she had attended endless posh affairs with Gordon, she'd never been around so many celebrities. For the past hour, she and Hunter had chatted with Tyra Banks, Dyan Cannon, and Christopher Darden. She even glimpsed Cookie and Magic Johnson as they passed through the Club on their way to their seats.
Sasha chatted, sipped Chardonnay, sampled the endless supply of hors d'oeuvres, and did a good job of hiding the fact that she was star-struck.
Hunter intertwined his fingers with hers. “I bet you taste a lot better than these strawberries,” he whispered.
She simply smiled and brought her glass to her lips. Her eyes wandered around the dimly lit room. The Lakers’ history was scattered on the walls. There were pictures of past championship teams, Paula Abdul's framed “Laker Girl” uniform, and photos of stars in concert.
She was drunk with awe but not blind to Hunter. Their conversation had been sprinkled with sexual innuendoes the entire day. To her, it was playful banter. She had no intentions of sleeping with him—not tonight.
But this is Hunter Blaine, her inside voice spoke. This man has been with every beautiful woman yet, today, he was with her. Sasha had to admit she got high on the envious looks and regal treatment she'd received all afternoon because she was on Hunter's arm. But she wasn't going to be just another one of his conquests. He was taken with her and, if she played right, she could end up with far more than just a one-time romp.
“Hey, Hunter.” Three women, each barely covered in black spandex, sauntered over to them. Sasha thought she recognized the tallest, with bushy red hair and the longest legs. As the three kissed Hunter familiarly on the lips, Sasha pushed her chin higher, and clasped the glass of wine tighter, but her smile remained in place.
“So, Hunter,” one of the women started, as she looked Sasha up and down, “what are you doing after the game?”
The question seemed to remind Hunter that Sasha was there. He put his arm around Sasha's waist.
“I have plans.” He grinned at Sasha.
“Well, if your plans
change,
” the redhead said, nudging herself between Sasha and Hunter, “we have something you might enjoy.” The woman whispered into Hunter's ear. When Hunter and the women laughed, Sasha resisted the urge to throw what remained in her glass into all of their faces.
“See you, Hunter,” the roving ménage à trois said in unison, as they meandered to their next prey.
Hunter cleared his throat, then forced his eyes from the swaying hips. “It's time to go to our seats. Are you ready?” he asked, taking her hand.
She had made up her mind. “I'm ready for everything with you, Hunter.” She leaned into him.
He smiled knowingly and led her into the elevator that would take them to the beginning of the game.
During the limousine ride from the Staples Center, Sasha had visions of Hunter's home. But nothing in her imagination prepared her for this. As she stood in the middle of the living room, Sasha fought to keep her mouth from dropping in shock. If she hadn't seen the building's concierge, or the lobby's crystal chandelier, or the hallway's marble floors, she would have thought she was in a college dormitory.
As Hunter strolled the room, turning on the small mismatched table lights, she hoped her curious confusion wasn't obvious. She could see most of the apartment from where she stood. It appeared to be a one-bedroom—just barely. The tan carpet was industrial, the kind designed for high-traffic corporate offices. Not what you'd expect in a high-rent building.
It looked like Hunter had done most of his shopping at a discount warehouse. At least the brown futon couch matched the pine-veneer end tables and bookcases that overflowed with books.
She moved toward a stack piled high in the corner: Richard Wright, James Baldwin, William Shakespeare, Zora Neale Hurston. “You like to read.”
“Every chance I get, I love the classics.” Then, sweeping his arm, he asked, “What do you think of my place?”
“Its nice.”
He laughed. “This is just a pit-stop. I gave Cynthia the house.”
“Looks like you gave her a lot more than that,” Sasha said lightly. He laughed again. “I'll be looking for a new place soon. I just have to take care of a few things first. But I have to admit I'm comfortable here. It's better than where I grew up.”
Sasha frowned. She'd read about his pauper-to-prince transformation, which was why she'd expected more palatial surroundings.
“So.” Sasha walked to him. “What do you use this for?” She pointed to the high-powered telescope that was directed toward the dim lights in the hill.
He swung the instrument east, leveling at the Hollywood sign. “To see things.” He put his eye to the lens. When he stood straight, he saw Sasha's frown. “But I'd much rather participate in the act than watch.”
He put his arm around her waist, and drew her to him. His tongue parted her lips and Sasha closed her eyes, trying to fall into the feeling. She brought her hands around his neck and pulled him closer, pushing away the resistance that stirred inside. This was not who she was nor who she wanted to be. She would never settle for a one-time romp.
Hunter pulled back and, as his eyes held hers, he slipped her jacket from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. When she didn't resist, he kissed her again, more urgently.
An alarm rang in her head. This is not right, she said over and over inside.
But what was right? Was it right that Gordon had thrown her aside, even though she loved him? Was it right that her grandmother couldn't love her? Was it right that, no matter where she searched, there was no one for her?
Hunter Blaine could have any woman, yet he was unbuttoning her blouse. His moans showed how much he wanted her. Goose-bumps rose on her, as his fingertips gently traced her bare skin. Her moans mimicked his as his tongue followed his fingers.
Suddenly he stopped. His eyes were thin slits. He took her hand and pulled her with him. She followed, but before she stepped into the bedroom, she glanced over her shoulder, focusing on the telescope. She was going to do this. It was time for her to stop being a voyeur and live life on her terms.
A
nya sighed as she hung up the phone. Madear hated answering machines, but she was suddenly using hers. Over the past few days, it had come on every time Anya called. She knew her grandmother was fine—Miss Mattie told her so when Anya had checked on Madear through her best friend.
“It's time for me to camp out on the porch, Madear,” Anya whispered. “You
will
talk to me.”
“I think this should do it.” Dianna dropped files on Anya's desk.
Anya looked at the clock. “Perfect timing. I have to leave in an hour.”
She and Braxton were going downtown to select wedding bands. It had been her idea—a peace pact. For the past few days, an unspoken truce had kept them on an even keel, and Anya had jumped full-force into the wedding plans, not leaving time for doubts.
But her wedding was not the only thing keeping her preoccupied. Her family was doing their share. Madear wouldn't return calls, Sasha was spending all of her time with Hunter; Anya was more than a bit concerned.
