After the Loving

Tara took her hand and walked with her to the breakfast room where Russ and Henry waited for them. As soon as they sat down, Russ said grace.

“Mr. Russ says my grace takes too long,” Tara said, blessing them all with her smiles and giggles.

“Henry, this food is first class,” Russ said of the medallions of pork, saffron rice, artichoke hearts in cream sauce and asparagus.

“I made a brown Betty for dessert. Alexis left a slew of recipes, and I’m using ’em. I suppose you know how to cook, Velma.”

At least he hadn’t mentioned her clothes. “Henry, I have two degrees in home economics, and I make a living catering galas and other affairs. And you ask me if I can cook.”

“Well, you don’t have to do the cooking yourself. You can hire somebody.”

She glanced at Russ, and found his gaze pinned on her. “If you want a sample, I’ll cook one day this weekend.”

“I’d like a sample,” Russ said almost before the words left her mouth. “Make it Sunday. One of my college buddies is having supper with us. I was going to take him out to dinner because I don’t like adding to Henry’s burdens, but since you’re cooking—”

“Ain’t no burden to add an extra plate. He ain’t on a special diet, is he?”

Russ shook his head. “Tara, did you finish your homework?”

“Yes, sir. I did my whole workbook.”

“What about your reading?”

“I read that yesterday. Can I go play the piano?”

“After your Aunt Velma or I checks your homework, you may.”

“And after Mr. Henry gives me some black-cherry ice cream,” she said, bringing a laugh from the adults.

Once more, she left the table feeling as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. She took the plates into the kitchen, rinsed them and opened the dishwasher. As she raised up to get the plates off the counter, she glimpsed Russ’s gray pinstriped pants.

“You could at least make some noise when you walk. Scare the bejeebers out of a person.”

His hands gripped her shoulders, his lips covered hers, and she tasted him. “Russ!” His fingers sent fiery ripples spiraling along her arms, and she pulled his tongue into her mouth, loving him, shaken by the terrible sweet hunger he stirred in her.

When he released her, she gripped his arms for support. “Russ. Honey, would you please leave me down here on planet earth. I want to stay off this seesaw of yours.”

“I like the way you look, and I wanted you to know it. Warm and sweet.” He kissed her nose. “Nice nose, too.”

In the days that followed, she planned her time carefully and managed not to be alone with Russ except on the rare occasions when he surprised her, as he said, “Just so you’ll know I’m here and that I know what you’re doing.”

She didn’t ask him what he meant, because she knew. She also knew that until he indicated that he wanted more from her than hot kisses, more than a casual relationship, she intended to stay out of his way.

“If you’re going to let me cook tomorrow, Henry, I’d better run into Eagle Park and do some shopping.”

“Guess you’d better. If you told Russ you’d do it, that settles it. He don’t break his word for nothing, and he expects the same of everybody else. Check the pantry before you make yer list.”

She returned from shopping, made a large bowl of crème Courvoisier, put it in the deep freezer, made raspberry sauce for it, marinaded a pork roast and called Henry.

“The kitchen’s yours till around one tomorrow,” she told him.

“If you need from one to seven to get dinner together, you must think the president’s coming.”

She winked. “What makes you think he isn’t?”

Not to be outdone, Henry called to her as she walked down the hall, “If that’s the case, it’s high time you started acting like it. If a man’s head honcho, his woman lets him and everybody else know it.”

Russ turned the corner with Tara holding his hand. “Who’s head honcho?”

Henry didn’t look at him. “Humph. Since you don’t know, telling ya won’t do a bit of good.”

She hurried up the stairs, went to her room and busied herself with plans for the gala she had contracted to service in New Orleans. The more she thought about it, the less attractive the venture appeared.

Darkness had already set in that Sunday afternoon around five-thirty when she began setting the dining room table. She decorated it with a large crystal bowl of pink and white rose buds that she had bought in town the previous day, and pink candles in crystal candle holders. She used a white damask cloth and napkins, white porcelain that had a tiny pink floral design, heirloom silver and crystal goblets.

At the last minute she decided to wear her new navy blue dress, added rose quartz beads and earrings, combed out her hair, remembered his comment about short women piling their hair on their heads to look taller and pinned hers up on top of her head.

“I’m not going to remake myself for him, and I want him to know it,” she said aloud and she walked down the stairs.

She dressed Tara in a red-and-white-checkered pinafore and secured her hair with two red clamps. “Sorry, honey,” she said, “braids will have to wait till your mother gets back.”

“How many more days?”

“Five.”

She clapped her hands and exuded happiness as giggles poured out of her. “And then Mr. Telford will be my daddy… I mean my dad.”

“He’s been your dad ever since the wedding.”

Tara’s wide eyes stared up at her. “Will he like being my dad?”

“He will love it, because he loves you. Let’s go. It’s supper time.”

“Who’s she?” Velma heard a male voice ask, looked in the direction from which the voice came and saw a tall man-for-the-ages sexual dynamite staring at her.

“She’s Velma Brighton. Why?” Russ asked his guest.

“Why? You have to ask why? Is she yours?”

“No, she isn’t,” Russ replied. “Dinner’s ready.”

Chapter 4

Russ steered Velma away from her usual place at the table, beside Tara, and sat her opposite him. With Telford away, he sat at the head of the table.

“That’s my mummy’s seat, Aunt Velma.”

“Not tonight,” Russ said. After saying grace, he looked at Velma. “Ms. Brighton, this is Dolphe Andrews. We were roommates for a while when I was in graduate school.”