Sealed With a Kiss (8 page)

The next morning Naomi got up at six-thirty, unable to sleep longer, and phoned her grandfather.

“Why are you calling so early, gal? I thought you artist types worked at night and slept most of the day.”

She ignored his attempted reprimand for having abandoned teaching for art. “Grandpa, I think we ought to look up those people who want to find me and get it over with; I can’t stand this uncertainty. A month ago, I had a quiet life and was contented, all things considered. It’s like a death sentence must be; maybe the waiting and not knowing is worse than the actual execution.”

“Don’t you be foolish, gal,” he roared into the phone. “They may give up or I may find a way to discourage them.”

“But where does that leave me? Did I have a girl, a boy, twins? And are the adoptive parents loving, abusive, rich, dirt poor? What about my feelings, Grandpa? This is becoming unbearable.” She thought about Rufus and how devoted he was to his boys. He put them before everybody and everything, including his career. She recalled his painful allusion to his childhood when, after “pining” all day for someone, no doubt his mother, that someone had gotten home too tired to give him the love he needed. What would he think of her? She heard Judd’s insistent voice.

“What was that, Grandpa?”

“Where’s your mind, Naomi?” She imagined that he was rolling his eyes upward, expressing his frustration. “I said that I tried to spare you as best I could. But if you’re going to be foolish and go looking for trouble, I’d better hire a lawyer. Never could tell you a thing.”

“So the lawyer can tell you that we don’t have any options? This is something that has to be done on a personal basis.” She hated discussing it with him. Her grandfather would soon be ninety-five; he’d been born the last day of the nineteenth century, and she tried never to argue with him. Not only because he’d taken her in and made a home for her when her father had remarried to a woman who didn’t want a stepchild around, and had become her legal guardian when her father had died, but because she cared for him and didn’t like to upset him. He’s the product of anther era, she reminded herself, a time when a man did what he thought best for his family and expected them to accept it as he knew they would.

“We’ve got a problem, so we’ll get legal advice,” she heard him say in his usual authoritarian fashion. The sisters and brothers of the First Golgotha Baptist Church didn’t get out of line with their pastor, and forty-five years of such near idolatry had spoiled Judd Logan. “These hotshot lawyers are worthless,” he continued, “but you need them sometimes.”

“There’s no point in asking you not to, Grandpa, because you always do whatever you like. I don’t need a lawyer; I need to meet my child’s adoptive parents and ask them to let me see my child. If they want to reach me after all this time, there’s a good reason.” She wouldn’t say more about it then; it would take him a while to accept the idea, if he ever did. “I have to go over to One Last Chance, Grandpa. One of the girls is meeting me there at nine.” She didn’t say goodbye, because she knew he’d have a comment then or later. Twirling the phone cord, she waited.

“I want you to listen to me, gal. Don’t rush into anything. And I wish you’d stay away from those places like Florida Avenue,” he complained. “What kind of people do you meet over there? I’m sure Maude Frazier doesn’t waste time around there. It’s not proper for an unmarried girl of your class to hang around those people.” Naomi grinned, stifling a giggle as she did so. The old man was on a roll. He loved to preach, and it didn’t matter whether he had an audience of one hundred or one.

“Grandpa, you’re talking about seventy years ago.” Reminding herself that there was a generation between them and enough years in age for a two-generation gap, she let it pass.

“We’re never going to agree on certain things,” she told him gently. “You tried to save people’s souls. Well, when I’m at One Last Chance, I’m trying to help people mend their lives. There must be a connection there somewhere.” She told him goodbye and hung up.

Half an hour after arriving at OLC, Naomi looked at her watch. Linda was late. She knew that the girl wouldn’t offer an excuse, and when she arrived, she didn’t. Linda had missed several sessions, and Naomi had been tempted to speak with her mother but had refrained for fear of causing trouble.

“I spoke with your principal. Has he told your mother the consequences of your not going to the retreat and completing your art project?”

Linda’s eyes widened. “You mean he’s going to tell my mama I’ll be in trouble if I don’t go? Boy, that’s super cool! Tell me to tell her I can’t go to the retreat unless I have my hair done.”

Naomi laughed. “Linda, we tell the truth to the extent possible. The principal won’t be lying. That retreat is important to you; your career decisions may hinge on it.”

She knew that Linda admired her, but she was stunned when the girl suddenly told her, “I wish I could be like you, Naomi. I wish I was you.”

Naomi tugged at her chin with a thumb and forefinger. “My dear, if you knew everything there is to know, you might not want to be in my shoes at all.”

Linda stared directly at her. “With you, I’d take my chances.” Shaking her head, Naomi looked at Linda and remembered herself fourteen years before. If you got what you prayed for, she thought with wise hindsight, it could ruin your life.

She went home and began designing invitations for the Urban Alliance gala. There weren’t enough sponsors, she decided. Rufus would know what to do about it. She got his number and telephoned him. She was taken aback when his initial response to her call was unfriendly; he was deep into his current manuscript,
Subculture of the American
Juvenile,
he explained, and hadn’t wanted to be disturbed. But he’d immediately become warm and agreeable.

“Give me an hour, and I can get over there,” he stated, as if confident that she would accept his offer. She couldn’t help smiling. To begin the day with Judd Logan and end it with Rufus Meade would tax a saint—that is, unless the saint was slightly sweet on Rufus, her conscience whispered.

She pushed the thought aside and asked him, “How far away are you, Rufus?”

“Fifteen minutes. Just over in Chevy Chase. Why? You need something that’ll melt? Or maybe something that’ll melt you? Hmm?” He laughed, but she refused to join in his merriment. She wished he’d be consistent and stop the sexual teasing, since they had both sworn not to get involved.

“Are you bringing the boys? Should I dash out and get some ice-cream?”

He answered gruffly, yet seemed touched. “Thanks, no. They’re over at Jewel’s house, playing with their cousins. I’ll see you shortly.”

Naomi hung up and leaned against the edge of her kitchen table. Rufus claimed that he would not permit anything to happen between them, and that was fine with her, because she couldn’t afford it. But his behavior didn’t always suit his words. He teased her, and though he didn’t telephone her, when they spoke, he took every opportunity to make her aware of him as a man. A desirable man. She shook her head in wonder, but her bewilderment was fleeting; she spun on her heels and headed for her bedroom.

“Two can play this game,” she told herself, as she remembered how elegant he’d been when he’d come to her house, even when he’d had the twins with him. “If he’s a phony,” she muttered, “we’ll both know it soon.” She reached into her closet for her silk knit “Sherman tank,” a sleeveless cowl-necked magnet for males, dismissed caution, and shimmied into it.

Chapter 5

T
o her chagrin, Rufus arrived wearing a long-sleeved sport shirt with black jeans under a light overcoat. His dreamy eyes took her in from head to foot, apparently appreciating the svelte curves revealed by her burnt orange knit tube dress. His grin didn’t reach his eyes, she noticed. Leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his broad chest, he told her without a trace of a smile and in deadly earnest, “Don’t you play with fire, honey. I wouldn’t want you to get singed.”

She had an awful feeling of defeat, but only temporarily, because she knew that her sharp mind rarely deserted her. She pushed one of the kitchen chairs toward him, hopefully gave him a level stare, and asked in what she had cultivated as her sweetest voice, “You wouldn’t be the culprit, would you?” A bystander would have thought that she was seriously seeking valuable information. “You usually back off when things warm up. So I don’t have to worry about you, do I?” But she quickly realized that Rufus was not in a joshing mood. She saw his body stiffen and his muscles tense and thought of a big cat about to spring.

He rounded the table. “You like to tease, do you? Well…” She headed him off, sensing something subtly different about him. It wasn’t the annoyance; she’d seen him practically furious. It was the steel, a street kind of steel that a man reserves for his true adversary.

She gulped. “I’m not teasing you, I’ve never…”

“I’m not asking you; I’m telling you. You didn’t wear that hot little number all day long, now, did you? And I’ll bet you weren’t wearing it when you called me.”

She backed up a little. Where was that suave, genteel man with the iron control? This Rufus seemed to be itching for friction, to need it. But she was doggoned if she’d let him intimidate her.

“Your reputation doesn’t include being a bully, so be yourself and sit back down.”

His steely, yet strangely gentle fingers sent fiery ripples spiraling down her arm. “Don’t play with me, Naomi. You poured yourself into that thing to get my attention.” He grinned, and she realized for the first time that his grin did not necessarily signify amusement. “You’ve got my attention. I told you that I had no intention of pursuing this…this whatever-you-want-to-call-it between us, and you assumed that I meant I wouldn’t take you to bed. That shows how much you know about what goes on between a man and a woman.”

He was right. She knew very little about it, but enough that she sensed the danger of her galloping attraction to him. She scoffed at him, pretending amusement.

“You do fancy yourself, don’t you? Well, I want you to understand something, Mr. Meade: I don’t knuckle under for
any
man.”

She watched with frank fascination while Rufus walked away from her, turned, and placed his hands on his hips. “Naomi, only a fool would wrap himself in a red sheet and go out to meet a thousand-pound bull. I don’t fancy myself; but baby, you
do
fancy me.” Then he added in a dangerously soft voice, “I’d rescue you from a burning building, Naomi, but if you push me another fraction of an inch, I’ll have that dress off of you in a split second. And before you can bat one of your big eyes, you’ll be begging for mercy. Believe it!”

Tiny shivers skittered from her head to her toes and a rapidly spiraling heat suffused her as she imagined what he would be like if she dared him. She stared in rapt attention at his hypnotic face, taking in his serious manner, thrilled at the temptation of him standing before her, tense and flagrantly male, excited in a way that she had never been before. She didn’t wonder or even care what he thought as she stood there looking at him, trembling. Time had no meaning as her gaze traveled up his long, lean frame, pausing briefly on his powerful chest and strong corded neck and reluctantly coming to rest in the turbulent pools of fire that his eyes had become. Vaguely, she realized she needed to compose herself, but a feeling of helplessness nearly overcame her. She rimmed her lips with the tip of her tongue and, with what sense she had left, turned to leave the room.

Rufus narrowed his eyes at what was one of the most lush examples of honest feminine need he’d ever seen. He reached for her, and she moved to him without caution or care, like a moth to a glowing flame, nail to magnet. He gathered her to him with stunning force, and as if it was what she needed, she moved up on tiptoe, curled her arms around his neck, and let her long artist’s fingers weave through the tight black curls at the base of his head. He brushed her lips briefly, molded them softly to his, and held her head while he took his pleasure. Dimly, he realized that she was out of her league when she felt him growing against her and sagged in his arms.

Gently he lifted her and pressed his closed lips to her breast, hating that offending dress that separated him from her flesh. “Rufus. Oh, Rufus.” Was she begging him for more, or pleading for mercy? He couldn’t tell which, but he knew he was rapidly reaching the point where he’d need awesome self-control. He lowered her to her feet, held her away from him, and looked at her. She was as shaken as he, and his behavior annoyed him, because he didn’t want to mislead her or hurt her. And he didn’t trust himself to have an affair with her, after that kiss, which had been even more powerful, more punishing that the other that they had shared, he wouldn’t count on his ability to keep his head straight. He moved away from her, certain from the look of her that she wanted him even closer. And he was pretty sure now that her experience with men had been minimal. But what was he supposed to do while she stood there, apparently absentminded, rubbing the spot where his lips had been? He swore softly and pulled her to him again.

“I want you, Naomi.” He spoke in low guttural tones, the quiver in his voice a sure sign—if she had known it—that he could be putty in her hands. But she didn’t know it, he discovered, and she replied with the volley of an ingénue.

“Please let me go. That doesn’t flatter me, Rufus. I told you, it’s not going to happen now or ever.” If she had been a hot poker in his bare hand, he could hardly have put her away from him more quickly. He had almost made a fool of himself over her, and she’d turned him off, just like that. How could a woman go up in smoke in a man’s arms one minute and arrogantly tell him to get lost the next?

He wiped his mouth symbolically with the back of his hand and allowed her to witness one of his indecipherable grins. “Better stop playing it so close to the edge with me; the next time you behave the way you did tonight, we may both regret it. And Naomi,” he chided gently, almost affectionately, “you deserve better than you asked for just then, and I should have given you better than you got. But I’m human; try to remember that, will you?” There’s something about her that’s different, he thought, but couldn’t name it. Shrugging it off, he reached both hands toward the ceiling and grabbed fists full of air, stretching his big frame like the great cats for which he’d been nicknamed.

Naomi admitted to herself that her passionate exchange with Rufus was a humbling experience, and she had the guilty feeling that she’d brought some of it on herself. She knew how she looked in that dress, but she didn’t intend to worry about it. His last remark convinced her that he really was very likeable, that she could trust him with herself anyplace and at any time. Frankly observing him, she could almost pinpoint the second that he decided to change the tenor of the conversation.

“All right, let’s get started,” he directed. “I’m sure some of the fraternities would be glad to join this; I can get my frat to go along and you might contact your sorority.”

“What’s yours?” she asked. “I’m a Delta.” She shook with laughter at his stunned disbelief that they belonged to brother-sister Greek letter societies. Her Delta to his Omega. Stranger things had happened, she reminded him, hinting that at last they had found common ground.

He feigned innocence. “You’re joking! What do you mean, ‘at last’? What kind of ground was that we found when we were setting each other on fire a minute ago? As an English teacher, you should take a page from Shakespeare, ‘to thine own self be true.’”

She had backed away from involvements, from attachments that she would have liked to pursue, because she didn’t trust a man to love and accept her as she was. And she paid for it in loneliness. Even now, she chose craftily not to reply to his message but to the package in which he wrapped it. “Mr. Meade,” she queried, “where is it written that you’re not a man unless you mention sex at least once in every sentence?”

“Who mentioned sex? I was talking about whatever it is between us that draws us together, no matter how much we swear we don’t want it. I know what I’m backing away from, Naomi, and I know why. But do you?”

She wouldn’t have dared to tell him that she was backing away from what she thought she wanted, but hadn’t previously
known
she needed; the love of a strong, tender man. A man like him. And she couldn’t tell him that it was fear of his rejection, his scorn, that wouldn’t let her reveal herself, the self she knew he would like, that he might even love. Nor could she tell him that, if she were true to herself, he might even become hers for a little while—before her world caved in. And never could she utter the words that would tell him what he was coming to mean to her.

A frivolous reply that would hide her feelings was on the tip of her tongue. But his question was too threatening, too intimate for a trivial answer, and she heard herself say, “I’ve been backing away so long that I do it without thinking.” She must have made him speechless; he was quiet for a long time. When he did speak, it was to suggest that they get something to eat. Relieved, she nodded in agreement. “Sounds good to me.”

Naomi rarely sat in the front seat of a car when she wasn’t driving; when she did, she tended to be uncomfortable. But not with Rufus at the wheel. She turned to him. “Driving a car is an ego trip for a lot of men, but not for you; you’re very careful.”

She wouldn’t have thought that such a simple statement would please him so much. But his face showed genuine pleasure. “Life’s a fragile thing, Naomi, and I don’t risk mine or anyone else’s, if I can help it. Besides, I’m all that the boys have.”

There was a silent minute while he seemed to test her interest, and then he added, “Those little rascals are my life; I can’t imagine it without them. They’re not quite four yet, but I feel as if I’ve always had them. I have to leave them sometimes, like tonight, and when I get back home the way they greet me…Naomi, they make me feel like I’m king of the world.” The dreamy smile on his face told Naomi that he was speaking not only to her, but to himself as well, that he was counting his blessings. She was silent for so long that he apologized.

“You’ll have to pardon me for going on about my boys; I forget that they’re not as precious to other people as they are to me.”

He couldn’t be serious. She never tired of seeing or hearing of love between children and their parents. If there was anything more precious, she hadn’t heard of it. “Don’t apologize. I was thinking how fortunate they are, how fortunate any child would be to have a parent who loved it like that. It’s something about which I know little or nothing, but I recognized it when I saw you with them, and I sensed that they know it, too.” Her own words jolted her. They told of her youthful needs, but they might also describe the needs of the child she had borne but never seen. She didn’t know, but God she hoped not! Her left hand clutched her chest.

“What is it, Naomi? Are you okay?” At her continued silence, he said, “No, I guess you aren’t. Did you grow up without parents?”

She had, she told him. “My grandfather gave me a lovely home and anything that I needed, and he took good care of me. But, Rufus, he was forty-one when my father was born, and he’s almost Victorian in his thinking. He thinks that any show of emotion is a sign of weakness. Can you imagine a little seven-year-old girl dealing with that? I think he loves me, but not on the basis of anything he’s ever said.”

“Was he harsh with you?”

She had always found it difficult to talk about the little pricks and hurts that she kept locked deep inside. Although his calm protective mien tempted her to pour out everything, she quickly threw up her guard. She knew she was hedging, and she suspected that he did, too.

“Not really. The problem was that he made mistakes, mistakes that hurt, but he never seemed to question his decisions nor his actions. He’s given me some tough rows to hoe, but I love him, Rufus. I love him, because he’s always meant well, and as you said, I’m all he has.” He turned off Wisconsin onto M Street and parked.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask earlier,” he needled. “You independent gals usually want to be in on every decision no matter what it is.” He pulled off his overcoat, reached in the back seat, got a suit jacked out of a dry cleaner’s bag, and slipped it on. If you wanted service at the Brasserie, you had to wear a jacket.

“More often than you would imagine, our escorts turn out to be men of little minds,” she explained patiently, tongue in cheek, “and we’ve learned to express our opinions in the interest of self-preservation.” He put his overcoat on while he walked around the vehicle to the passenger door.

She accepted his hand he offered to help her out of the minivan and jumped when he gave her a delicate little squeeze for the sheer sport of it. She supposed that she looked a little startled, because he explained to her as patiently as she had explained to him: “Excuse me, but that remark of yours closed down my little mind. Temporarily, of course.”