Love After All (4 page)

“I'm sure. What's new?” she asked hopefully.

“Not a thing, same old, same old.” She paused and grimaced. “You sure you're okay? You sounded a bit distracted earlier tonight and now you look like you've just seen a ghost.”

“I'm just tired. But I got my ruby slippers on and I'm going to click my tired butt on home.”

Emily laughed, loud and joyous. She loved the way they talked the Oz talk as they always did. It was like a secret handshake in a secret club. At one time Darnell tried to get into the act by declaring himself the Wizard, but that didn't last long. He soon gave up and found his place back in Munchkin Land.

“You do just that. Good night, Dorothy.”

“See you later, Auntie Em.” Samantha turned to leave. but remembered the envelope she carried. “Oh, I almost forgot, I think my last fare left this in the back seat of the cab. He might call in for it.” She handed the envelope to Emily and left the office.

As soon as she stepped out of the garage she looked upward, letting the slight drizzle dampen her face. She walked over to her car and pushed the alarm release, but stopped when she heard her name being called behind her. She turned. Emily was hurrying across the parking lot carrying a “What would Jesus do” umbrella.

“Sammy, this is addressed to you,” she said breathlessly, holding the envelope out beneath the shelter of her umbrella.

“What?”

“That's what it says.” She turned it over and read the name aloud. “To Samantha Lee Taylor.”

Samantha took the envelope cautiously and looked around the empty parking lot. Suddenly she felt vulnerable, but she had no intention of getting Emily involved. “Oh, that's right, thanks, Emily, I must have forgotten and left it in the back of my cab by mistake.” Proficient at lying as Samantha was, this one was adequate to placate Emily's curiosity.

“You sure?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, my head's all over the place. I think I might be coming down with a cold or something. I completely forgot it was mine.” Samantha said, smiling happily as she casually glanced around the immediate area again.

“All right, sweetie, you drive careful out here. There are a lot of crazies on the road that are trying their best to meet my Lord sooner than expected.”

“I know,” Samantha said, knowing Emily's “dangers-of-the-world” speech by heart. “I'll be careful. Good night.”

Emily turned and headed back to the garage. “Emily,” Samantha said. Emily turned around as Samantha continued. “Thank you for everything you've done for me. You've given me a home and a family and I'll never forget your kindness.”

“Sweetie, you're like a daughter to me, you know that. And as soon as that package arrived for you from overseas, I knew to expect you. But Lord, I never expected to see you looking so despondent. When you came in four months ago, I knew you needed this place. It might be old and a long way from being perfect, but it's shelter and a dry port in a storm.”

“Yes, it is,” Samantha said. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me. The door is always open to anyone in need as long as they're willing to work.”

Samantha nodded. It was a well-known fact that cabbies came and went at Oz all the time. Not many stayed longer than a few months, and like her, some were waiting, some were in transit and some just needed a place to call home for a while. And as they left, there was always a new face to replace them.

“You have to go now, don't you?”

Samantha nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“The Lord told me that you needed to be here for however long it takes. Trust him. He'll light your path.”

Samantha smiled and nodded her appreciation. “I wish I had your faith, Auntie Em.”

“I'm a God-fearing woman, but I wasn't always as you see me. If or when you need me, call. You'd be surprised at the folks I still call family.” Samantha nodded soberly. “And remember, we're born into a family, but family isn't always just by blood. I have a friend who I haven't seen in near thirty years, but in my heart she's still my sister, my family, and you never turn your back on family, no matter what the cause. Family is forever.”

Samantha knew that to be true. It was something her mother and father always said:
Family is forever.
And being raised on that mantra, she knew that when trouble came, her family would be there for her. “Thank you, I'll remember that.”

Emily nodded her assurance. “Be safe and remember, there's no place like home.”

“I'll remember. 'Bye, Auntie Em,” Samantha said softly as she looked after Emily, seeing that she got back into the garage safely. She spared one last thorough look around, then turned and got in her car and pressed the lock down securely.

She read the name on the back of the envelope again, printed small and in the lower corner. With trembling fingers she opened the envelope and read the note inside. It was concise and to the point, telling her exactly what she needed to do to find Eric. It was signed Lincoln. She tipped the envelope over and pulled out a first-class ticket and read the date, time and destination.

She looked up slowly, then without moving her head glanced around the immediate area. At one in the morning it was nearly deserted. She glanced over to the police precinct across the street from the cab company.

The location was an unlikely choice for someone trying to be invisible or disappear, but she remembered her father's words well: “Hide in plain sight. No one ever looks in their own backyard.”

A few uniformed police officers stood outside talking. She replaced the contents of the envelope, stuffed it in her backpack, then started the car and pulled off slowly as if nothing was wrong, waving casually. The two officers returned her gesture as a third joined them and they walked into the building together.

Sixty minutes later, after stopping at her rented apartment for her overseas package and four ATMs, she parked her car in the bus terminal overnight parking lot. She signed her name on the back of her car-registration form, jotted a quick note and stuffed both in the glove compartment. She hurried through the terminal, purchased a one-way ticket and begged a blank envelope from the information desk. She addressed the envelope, dropped her car and apartment keys inside, sealed and mailed it, then hopped onto the next departing bus headed west.

Her cell phone rang. After reading the quick text message, she eased back into the seat, closed her eyes and waited for the next move.

T
he effect of working double-digit hours seven days a week had finally taken a toll on him. He was exhausted. He felt empty inside, no excitement, no joy, just empty. And now, after a particularly stressful day, there was finally a moment of peace as Jackson Daley sat in his office chair and swiveled around to face the window behind his desk, smooth jazz playing softly in the background.

He was about to take a well-deserved break, a long weekend off, no work, no radio and no family, completely alone and devoid of drama. He intended to take either his plane out of its long hiatus or his boat down the coast and just relax for a few days. He sighed deeply, savoring the idea, but then his thoughts crowded with business again.

He glanced at his watch, then out at the view.

It was dark and the glittering lights of Los Angeles shone and reflected across the city like tiny diamonds tossed out and scattered on black velvet. He loved the night, and from twenty-five stories up the cityscape view was spectacular. Looking out at the impressive skyline often stilled his thoughts. But nothing short of a miracle could do that tonight.

True, he lived a charmed life, one of affluence, money and power. But with affluence and power came responsibility, and his was more than most. With work as his only outlet, the boredom of life was his future—tame, safe and monotonous at best. He feared following in his father's footsteps, a slave to the boredom of excess.

He was the oldest son of divorced couple Rachel and Marcus Daley, second-generation media entrepreneurs. His grandfather, deceased founder of Daley Communications, was in his time a pioneer in the African-American broadcast industry. Over sixty-five years in the business, the Daley family owned more than eighty-five broadcast stations. Their satellite and base of operations were in this twenty-five-story building in the heart of L.A., which was also the main radio station that broadcast in syndication nationally.

When his grandfather died, he left the majority of stock to his daughter-in-law and not to his disinterested playboy son, Marcus, causing their teetering marriage to deteriorate instantly. Their subsequent bitter divorce had torn the family and business apart even more, and Jackson was hard pressed to bring it together.

Host of a nightly radio talk show, Jackson also served as vice president and general manager of the broadcast division of Daley Communications. His father was at the moment president and CEO. And since the death of his mother six months ago, the hierarchy of control wavered between the two, causing an already deep rift to expand even further.

Rachel, like her father-in-law, overlooked Marcus and left Jackson with the majority of stock control, which sent Marcus storming into court to contest the will and regain complete control of what was once his father's company. The bitter litigation had leaked out to the media, creating not only nervous board members but months of newspaper gossip and fabricated speculations. The once-admired Daley family name had become tabloid fodder.

So at the request of his sister, the company's public relations director, Jessica Daley, Jackson once again asked for a meeting with his father to hopefully settle matters at least publicly. But dreading the inevitable, Jackson knew what was coming. The discussion they'd had a hundred times or more would be rehashed. He looked at his watch. It was time.

He walked to his father's office on the other side of the building, knocked, then walked in without waiting for a response. He glanced around the room. Exaggeratedly decorated along the lines of big and obnoxious, the huge space and overly elaborate furniture nearly dwarfed his more than six-foot frame. His father's taste ran toward the overstated.

Without looking up, Marcus Daley, sitting behind his ornate desk, began speaking. “I hope you've come to tell me that you've reconsidered my suggestion.”

“Your what?” Jackson asked, taken off guard by the left-field question. Then he remembered a conversation he'd had with his father earlier in the week about announcing an engagement between his associate, George Cooperman's oldest daughter, Shauna, and himself.

They'd dated, at his father's prompting, for three weeks the year before. But after the fourth date she wanted to announce their pre-engagement minus an actual proposal from him. Their relationship, strained from the beginning, continued to be just as stressful and bizarre. When he realized that Shauna was vain, arrogant, shallow and jealous, he knew that she wasn't the woman for him. Convincing her took some doing but he finally detached himself from her clingy tentacles and moved on. She still hadn't.

So, since his father's suggestion of a possible engagement was absurd, he didn't even bother considering it. Just because the woman had a thing for him and their fathers were doing business together didn't mean that he was part of the deal. The Middle Ages concept and his father's incessant prompting did nothing to change his mind. “No, not even close,” Jackson finally said.

“Shauna Cooperman is a perfect match.” Marcus looked up at his son for the first time since he'd entered. “She's worth over thirty million dollars in her own right, not to mention her stock options and her inheritance.”

“I don't intend to marry for money,” Jackson said, knowing that his father had married his mother for her wealth. Apparently strained from the beginning, their tumultuous affair-ridden relationship lasted for years for no other reason than public appearance. When Marcus, after learning of his wife's terminal illness, took control of the board with a no-confidence vote and ousted her as president and CEO, it nearly destroyed her.

Her sweet revenge was to leave all her shares to Jackson in her will, securing him as head of the company, knowing that he would never sell out and would continue to keep it in the family. She'd long ago taught him that all the money in the world would never buy happiness, and she was an example of that fact.

Marcus stopped writing for a second, feeling the sting of his son's words. “Money is power. You need to respect that and learn to use both wiser.”

“Like you?” Jackson asked, then watched as his father continued writing again. “Look, I didn't come here to discuss the women in my life.”

“There are no women in your life.” Marcus hit solid and smirked. “So I suggest you reconsider. It would be a sweet PR piece and we could use all the positive press we can get,” he continued. “A joint effort, a business venture and partnership between companies and families. I can see the headlines now. We'd get double exposure with one paragraph added to the press release, a complete and full partnership.”

“No.”

Marcus looked up at his son. He saw the handsome reflection of his own face from years past. Then he looked into his son's eyes, seeing his late wife. Pale green and penetrating, mesmerizing to the point of hypnotic, his son's eyes, like his wife's, seemed to pierce right through him, seeing and knowing everything.

Initially, they were reason he had been so attracted to her. Her beautifully captivating eyes had fascinated him the instant he saw her. She was mesmerizing and he fell instantly in love. Yet over the years, he grew to despise that knowing look, and now he was again looking into the same eyes. Marcus glanced away, refocusing on the papers he'd been reviewing.

In truth, he needed this marriage as much as he needed the business venture. He didn't trust George Cooperman, and a union between Jackson and Shauna would guarantee that he wouldn't be double-crossed.

“There will be no business venture with George Cooperman, particularly not now. The man has three separate indictments and one pending,” Jackson said adamantly. “Do you really think that's all he wants? Cooperman goes through companies like tissue. He owns cable conglomerates all over the country. What does he want us for?”

“Oh, there'll be a business venture all right. George Cooperman and I have it all outlined. He has a company to sell and we're in the market to purchase. Everything is already set up. He's even introduced me to his moneyman. He's a reputable broker handling the whole thing. We're in final negotiation on the details now.”

“You still don't get it. Cooperman doesn't just want to sell you a company, he wants to take over
this
company. He always has. It's what he does. He finds a way in, gobbles up stock, then drives the interest down so that he can tear the company apart from the inside. Then he sells it off like a Monopoly game board. It's not a business venture he's after. If he gets his foot in the door it's a takeover, and I'm not going to let that happen. We owe it to—”

“To whom, my father, your mother?” Marcus asked as the two men glared at each other. “This is my company now, not yours. I decide what happens with it.”

“That'll be up to the board to decide next week.”

“Having the majority share doesn't automatically make you chairman,” Marcus warned.

“It doesn't preclude it.”

“This purchase will position me to retain control. Once the board sees my new vision—”

“It'll be too late by then.”

“I know what I'm doing,” Marcus stated firmly.

“You can't buy this company,” Jackson said.

“Watch me.”

“You don't have the capital.”

Marcus smiled. “I'm getting the money.”

“How? From whom, the banks, Cooperman?” Jackson asked.

Marcus chuckled at his inside joke. He had everything planned down to the last detail. He'd already made twenty thousand dollars in profit with no risk and was about to double his stake to the sum of fifty thousand dollars on the same gamble. He needed cash and was making it, quick and easy.

In his mind this was war, the same war he'd fought with his father and his late wife. His father had controlled the company and doled out his life to him like a miser. Then his wife had controlled everything, only because she had the money when they were desperate because of a previous attempted Cooperman takeover bid. She'd saved the company, and in gratitude for his father's sake he'd married her.

“The proposed deal won't be approved,” Jackson said. “Cooperman will never sit on the board.”

“Believe me, it'll be approved. This deal is too sweet to pass up and you need to seriously think about a personal union with Shauna before it goes through.”

“There's nothing to think about, it's not gonna happen,” Jackson reiterated firmly. “Shauna has serious issues. She broke into my house several times and stalked me for nearly three months after we split up. I had to threaten her with a publicly released restraining order to back her off.”

“She's a woman who needs love.”

“She's a woman who needs shock treatment.”

“Consider it. I'd like to make an official public announcement about the business venture during my acceptance speech for the National Association of Black-Owned Broadcasters awards ceremony and dinner,” Marcus said instructively, knowing already that he'd be receiving the Lifetime Achievement Award.

“Have you any idea who you're talking to?”

Marcus looked up. “Not a very astute question, Jackson. You're my son.”

“At thirty-one, I believe I can find my own bride. And she, whoever she is, will certainly not be part of a business deal to solidify a partnership or in serious need of psychotherapy.”

“Consider it,” Marcus said stubbornly as he picked up a magazine next to the papers he was reviewing and tossed it across the desk. Then he lowered his head and went back to work.

“What's this?” Jackson asked, seeing the magazine was
Black Enterprise
and his father's smiling face was on the cover.

“Check it out. There's a favorable article in there about the company for once. Your sister handled it, and it's pretty good.”

Jackson signed heavily; dictatorial commands and then avoidance were his father's two favorite means of communication. “I didn't come here tonight to argue. I just came to remind you that tonight's my last on-air show,” Jackson said, ignoring the magazine. “I'll be taking a few days off to handle some personal business. If you need to contact me I'll be on my cell. I'll see you next week.” He turned to leave, then stopped.

Marcus looked up again. “So you're still going through with this, huh?” he said, still annoyed by the decision.

“Yes,” Jackson said, having informed his father four weeks earlier of his decision to leave the show.

Jackson, with his unique skills and the smooth silk of his deep, chocolate-melting voice sent the ratings soaring along with the profits. His nightly radio show,
Love After Midnight,
was syndicated in more than forty urban markets and went out to over almost every major city in the nation. With more than twenty million listeners a week, he had a faithful following that made even celebrities drool.

When he'd informed his father that he was ending his five-year run as DJ Love, Marcus nearly blew a fuse. And since their relations had been strained from as far back as Jackson could remember, Marcus's reaction was expected.

“Remind me again why you're doing this?” Marcus said.