Like Slow Sweet Molasses (17 page)

The
storm door slammed.

“Chance?”
His long frame stopped but did not turn. “I need a favor.”

“Just
like that?” He knew it took all she had stored inside to do that.

“No.
I’m aware I’m treading on thin ice. You have every right to walk out of my life
and never speak to me again after the way I behaved.” His back was still to
her. “You didn’t try to explain.”

She
assessed his stance watching as his fingertips pinched the toothpick in a
cigarette-type hold.

“Why
explain? The fact all charges were dismissed should have been enough for you.”

“I
didn’t know you. I still don’t know anything about you,” she insisted.

“I’m
Lt. Brock Alexander of the NOPD.” He began volunteering information he
ordinarily considered no one else’s business. “I was born and spent most of my
life in the Montana mountains until my father relocated us here in my last
years of high school. Ya-da-ta, ya-da-ta. You know the middle part. I’m
divorced over five years, the father of one child, a girl just turned sixteen,”
Angela smiled at that though Chance never knew it, “whom I see on most major
holidays in addition to the surprise visits I make there as often as possible.”

Chance
faced her.

“I
have no convictions of any kind. Juvenile or adult. My favorite pastime is
tinkering. I’m a social drinker—not a drunkard as some movies depict cops. I
like motorcycles, fast cars and intelligent, intriguing women. Not necessarily
in that order. I’m unattached, have been for more than a year, by my choice.”
His look softened. “Anything else?”

Angela
left the porch to stand in his space, imploring eyes wide and seeking an answer
in his expression. “I’ve been summoned to a meeting. The catch…if I fail to
show up at the appointed hotel, today by seven pm, he says he’ll have no other
choice but to visit my home.”

“He?”
Chance boomed in an irritated fashion, his own anger at her forgotten. “Who’s
threatening you?”

She
handed him the letter. “Will you go with me?” He looked disgusted as he scanned
the page. “I…I have no right to ask.”

“Philip
Harperiski?” he snapped.

She
elaborated. “Jason Harper’s father.”

“Your
father,” he surmised.

“Merely
a sperm donor,” Angela corrected, angrily.

“You
need a cop to guard your body.” He gave a superfluous answer, pitching the wood
in the wind.

“I
need a friend.”

“Then,
I’ll go.”

“Just
like that?”

“Just
like that.”

Her
arms encircled his waist as she melded their bodies together her way of saying
she missed him. He reciprocated with a longing sigh that whistled through his
teeth, certain his dream would turn into a nightmare the minute she realized
what she did. To his enjoyment, Angela braced on her toes to peck his cheek.
The light in her dazzling eyes, emphasizing the smile on her mouth, made him
want nothing more than to sample her kiss.

“Do
you have time to take a walk with me?”

Chance
never got the chance to reply as Angela tugged him into the house, hijacking
his body and his heart, to get her money. The time to languish in her
environment didn’t present itself; much to his disappointment, for her absence
was all too brief. He had to settle for the leisurely stroll to the corner
store for her sugar fix. Apparently, stress subsided with the taste of red
flavored crushed ice on her tongue. They walked in silence periodically
blessing each other with wistful glances.

Not
one to waste a second chance, Angela’s bold maneuver rested her hand in
Chance’s, twisting it to get the right angle to link her fingers through his.
She looked up at him for any signs of opposition, seeing pure gratification in
his startled eyes that crinkled at the corners in mirth. His pace deliberately
slowed as if to prolong their outing. Neither was in any hurry for the moment
to end. Both unanimously agreed, in spirit, to handle whatever fate sent their
way. Right now, they simply nourished their budding relationship, relishing in
the feelings tingling inside.

Angela
all but disappeared into the bucket seat of Chance’s car, her noticeable
agitation brought on by their current destination. Canal Street had a
sprinkling of tourists gaping at the boarded up buildings that once housed
thriving businesses. Today, there were a couple of open storefronts every
block, compliments of the tenacity shown by their owners. Chance drove into the
garage of the Riverfront Hilton a few minutes after six and had no problem parking
in close proximity to the hotel walkway. The ride over was done in unbearable
silence. Yet, neither forced a bland conversation, preferring support in the
form of hanging onto each other’s hand.

The
motor died returning the sparsely occupied floor to its original quietness.
Turning in his seat, Chance raised her hand to his lips drawing her sad eyes to
his. “It’ll be okay. You know that, right?”

An
apprehensive look entered her eyes.

“He
wants something from you, Angela. That puts you in the driver’s seat. You call
the shots.”

“I
call the shots,” she repeated as if hearing English for the first time. She
opened her door prepared to get out when he sidelined her with a mindboggling
kiss that took her breath away. “Wow!”

“You
said it.”

They
left the confines of the car, reaching the lobby sooner than she would have
liked and used the courtesy phone to call ahead as instructed. The wait was a
short one as the elevator doors glided open to reveal their greeter to be none
other than Jason Harper. Angela faltered but stiffened her spine to cover her
weakness. He looked his same metro-sexual self, immaculately dressed in his
lightweight woolen pants topped with a soft looking cashmere sweater. No one
spoke as they all piled onto the elevator with Jason inserting the required key
to access the floors housing the suites. She rode up knowing her life will have
changed forever for the ride down.

Each
man sized the other up, both jerked back to their last meeting at Angela’s. She
read their mannerisms: Chance’s smirk versus Jason’s scowl. The elevator’s
occupancy included the three of them and a heavy foreboding silence. They
stopped. Jason, exiting to lead the troops to his suite, rang the bell to give
advance warning. The gentlemanly thing never entered his mind as he stepped in
first to charge right into the sitting area populated with a very officious
looking, stern-faced man.

Chance
brought up the rear as she followed Jason in. The accommodations met her
approval earning an overall comfortable rating from Angela. Jason might as well
have been mute for it took the other man to introduce himself as Philip
Haperiski’s attorney. Not one time since their coming together did Jason open
his mouth to greet them let alone provide her insight on what to expect, in
particular, as it related to his father’s condition.

“Angela?”

Her
name called from behind caused her to whirl and come face to face with a man
not as tall or as distinguished looking as her father. He didn’t smile.
Instead, his look reduced her importance to chattel on the auction block,
inspected and branded for sale to the highest bidder. “Mr. Harperiski?” He
didn’t look ill, either. Just entitled.

“Come.”
He caught her hand. “Have a seat.”

“You
presume too much…too soon.” She snatched her hand away, sidling towards the
door.

“You’re
right,” he conceded duly chastised. “Of course. My apologies.” He made an offer
for her to sit on the sofa next to him.

Sitting
wasn’t an option for her since that might diminish the thought processes needed
to outwit this elitist group. She had to be sharp for this meeting. He might be
a control freak in his world. In hers, he was no more than gum under her shoe:
aggravatingly sticky.

“I
see you brought support.”

“A
friend.”

“Brock
Alexander.” Chance introduced himself never leaving his observation post at the
entrance, ever alert to her responses: audible, visual and perceived. His back
straightened widening the breadth of his strong shoulders in answer to the
intrusive looks cast his way.

“The
policeman boyfriend,” Philip’s lawyer supplied with indifference.

Angela’s
mouth was ready to respond. Only Chance beat her to the punch.

“At
your service. Now, can we get on with this?”

Philip
smiled his acceptance to Chance’s toss of the gauntlet. “Your mother tells me
our relationship is doomed before it gets started. Is that true?”

“This
meeting is just that, a meeting you requested and I’m honoring. Thirty-two
years without any knowledge of your existence should tell you what I think of
you now.”

“You
hate me, Angela. I get that. The reasons why escape me.”

Angela
struggled to hold her temper battling to see through the red cloud of anger
misting the room. “Why? Let me see if I can recount them for you.”

Her
eyes batted camouflaging the severe angst tearing her very world apart.

“You’ve
been aware I existed for over five years. Did you contact me? No. Were you
interested in getting to know the person you had a hand in creating? No. Were
you even a little curious as to what kind of person I grew up to be? Or what
accomplishments society bestowed on me during high school, college and beyond?
No, no and no.” Her study of each of the meeting’s participants exhibited in
the ice clogging her blood. “We’ve come full circle, Mr. Harperiski. You had no
interest in me then. I have none in you now.”

The
short walk to the door where Chance stood guard turned into a mile-long jaunt
to her.

“What
did I tell you, Dad? Just like a Ni—”

Chance
was upon Jason so fast the word choked in his throat, stopped there by the cold
rage on Chance’s face. “I wouldn’t finish that statement if I were you.”

“Jason,
she’s your sister.” Philip also shushed his son.

“Half-sister.”

“Remember
why we’re here,” the older man warned. “Angela, wait. Please.” His son’s
uncouth behavior would get him nowhere. “Jason, apologize and get the
contract.”

Chance,
close enough to read the deep hatred Jason harbored for Angela, wanted to wring
his privileged neck. His father saved him from that fate for he moved to obey,
not bothering with an apology.

“Contract?”
Angela’s interest peaked. Her bigoted brother slapped the papers in her hand
pointing out the part he assumed would most interest her. She read aloud.
“Fifty thousand dollars if the bone marrow tests indicate a match. A subsequent
one hundred-fifty thousand after the donation is harvested. Fifty thousand if
not a match, just for taking the test.”

The
pages floated to the carpet.

Her
under-eyed look harpooned Chance’s heart.
Here it comes.

“White
people.” Angela’s disgust permeated the space. Her hand settled on the curved
door handle when her biological father called out to her.

“Be
reasonable. You could be my only chance.”

“Apparently,
you think you’re speaking to someone who gives a damn.” With all the grace she
could muster, Angela strutted from the room with her head held high, eyes straight
ahead and invisible body armor deflecting her name, hurled spear-like in unison
by Philip and Jason.

Chance
felt like breaking heads but channeled his fury to sing her praises. “The two
of you are living proof money can’t buy breeding and you’re even dumber than
you look. The lady whom you just insulted with that idiotic proposition is a
first chair violist who performed with a select number of prestigious symphony
orchestras across the country. She backpacked across Europe before the age of
twenty-three: alone. No small feat for a young woman, especially a young black
woman out to live her dreams, conversely, to the opposing opinions of some of
society, I would suspect, just like you. With all of her beauty, brains and
skills, she chose to provide the children of New Orleans with opportunities
that both challenged their imaginations and planted seeds capable of blossoming
them into the future leaders of America.”