Holiday Kisses

He had to laugh. “Mom, not even a college law professor would argue with Dad about Supreme Court decisions. Remember he’s argued cases before the Supreme Court, and he’s correct, but I give you credit for guts. Taney succeeded Marshall as chief justice, and he was chief justice when he wrote that opinion.”

“You lawyers always gang up on me, but remember more people need doctors than lawyers…or journalists.”

He imagined that she shook her finger at him. “Go hug Dad and tell him that he’s right as usual.”

If he could have the kind of relationship with a woman that his parents had shared for as long as he’d known them, he shouldn’t ask for anything more, including a network news job. But he knew himself, and he’d never give up his dream.

He didn’t question why he thought of Kisha just then as if she were the one, because he knew himself and his responses to women. She could be if their relationship developed. Hampered by the worst pain he’d ever experienced, he opened his eyes, imagined looking up at her and felt a charge all the way from his head to his toes.

Kisha didn’t question the reason for the casual phone call she received from Craig. It was as if he’d phoned her so that she wouldn’t forget about him. But she would be patient, and when he made a move—as he surely would—she’d be ready. His call had come the previous morning around eight o’clock. When she got to know him better, she was going to ask him what time he usually awakened. She’d bet good money that he woke up around seven o’clock and called her before he got out of bed.

She got up a little later than usual that Sunday morning, too late for church, so she stuck her hand outside the front door, and picked up the Sunday newspaper. She thought of Craig, and his love of fresh coffee floated through her mind while she sat on the kitchen stool waiting for hers to percolate. She wondered why he didn’t buy a percolator and learn to use it. After toasting a bagel and spreading margarine and apricot jam on it, she ate what passed for breakfast, drank a cup of coffee and headed back upstairs. Unsettled, and at a loss as to why, she’d decided to go to the museum and read the paper later.

Dressed in dark blue stretch jeans, a red-cashmere turtleneck sweater, a knee-length gray storm jacket and a pair of Reebok shoes she covered her hair with a red knitted cap and headed for the Baltimore Museum of Art. She frequented the museum as much to study as to enjoy the work of great artists, and she especially enjoyed going there on Sunday afternoons. On her way to the European collection, she glimpsed paintings by Jacob Lawrence, a noted African-American, and turned into that hall. For more than an hour, she let her eyes feast on the works of Lawrence, Joshua Johnson, Horace Pippin, Henry Tanner and other African-American painters.

As she left that hall, she bumped into a hard, moving object and would have fallen backward if a hand hadn’t grabbed her and steadied her on her feet.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I nearly killed you, Kisha, for goodness’ sake. I’m so sorry.”

She couldn’t say whether it was his weight or the excitement of seeing him unexpectedly that had knocked her out of sorts. “Craig, you must weigh a ton.”

“Well, not quite. Two hundred pounds is more like it.”

She flexed her arms to be sure she still had both of them. “Two hundred moving pounds is a heck of a lot of power.”

He stepped closer to her and grasped her with both hands. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine, if I can ever breathe normally again. Don’t tell me you like to hang out in museums, too.”

“I like museums, but I’m working on a story about the museum’s relationship to the community, and I came here to observe the free Family Sundays hands-on workshop. This particular program is unusually creative. I’ll be reporting on it in a segment of an upcoming newscast. Are you heading any where special after you leave here?”

Seconds before she opened her mouth to say yes, she was busy, she remembered her resolve to either get things going with him or to forget about him. So she said, “What did you have in mind?”

Craig stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, looked down at her and grinned. “It’s a wonder I recognized you.” As discombobulated as Kisha, he stared at her for a minute. “Look. Could we go somewhere for coffee or a drink?” he asked her, more as a gentlemanly gesture—he assured himself—than as a means of appeasing his ever-growing attraction to her. “I…uh…it would be nice if we could spend a little time together.”

“It would be nice, but you’ve got on a business suit and tie, and I’m dressed for the supermarket.”

“You look great to me. We don’t have to go to the snazziest place in town. What about the Barbecue Pit. It’s practically empty on Sunday afternoons.”

“I…All right.”

He took her hand as they walked down the steps. “It’s not too far from here, so we can walk. My car is closer to the restaurant than it is to the museum.” He hoped that she wouldn’t attach too much significance to such a casual invitation, but the woman was not stupid, and she could figure out a man’s motives from his behavior.

“Since I’m here,” he said when they had seated themselves, “I may as well have some barbecued ribs. I doubt I’ll ever get enough of them.”

“Excuse me a minute, please.” She left and a few minutes later returned with her knitted cap in her hand and her hair swinging around her shoulders.

“I was wondering if I was going to get used to your little-girl look,” he said. “What would you like?”

“You’ve influenced me. I’ll have barbecued ribs, a biscuit and coffee.”

“So you like art, Kisha. That says a lot about you. Do you see it as beauty or as a technical achievement?”

“Both.” She described what it expressed to her. “It’s like the Empire State Building reigning over the skies of mid-Manhattan, or a sleek airplane speeding through the clouds, or Joseph Addai streaking toward the goal line for the Colts.”

“You’re a football fan? What other sports do you like?”

“Tennis. I’m a tennis freak. I play fairly well, but I can watch it for hours, even on television. It’s universal. My favorite recreational things to do are visiting art galleries, traveling overseas, reading and tennis.”

He shook his head in wonder. “I’d put travel first, and if you added water sports, we’d be on the same page. Where have you traveled?”

“Most of Western Europe. One of my fondest memories is being nineteen in Paris and subsisting on bread, cheese and water. When I got back home, I didn’t want to see any cheese or bread. I wouldn’t have drunk water if I could have lived without it.”

“It’s amazing, Kisha, how much we have in common. I lived like that in Paris, Rome, Spain and Copenhagen. I slept on the street, in doorways, churches, you name it, and when I got back home, I was ready to do it all over again. Fortunately, common sense prevailed.” They talked about their experiences, shared moments of joy and adventure. He realized that they had talked for hours when he noticed that the restaurant was full of patrons. A look at his watch told him that it was a quarter of seven and time for dinner.

“It’s dinnertime, Kisha. I’m not hungry, but we can eat dinner if this place suits you.”

“I’m not hungry enough for dinner. Let’s go somewhere and get a great dessert.”

“Girl after my own heart. How about a huge warm peach cobbler topped with two scoops of vanilla ice cream?” Her smile of approval made him feel like a king.

When he took her home almost two hours later, he wanted more than he knew he would get, but his mind told him that, in Kisha’s case, less was more. And while he stood in her foyer staring down at her, seeing what he knew he wanted, he made up his mind to get her. But he merely took her hand, kissed the back of it and left her.

Chapter 3

Kisha did not expect to hear from Craig after he left her that night. She brushed off her annoyance at him for heating her up with his desire-filled eyes and making her ache for a sample of what he promised almost every time he looked at her. So she took her time answering the telephone.

“This is Doctor Moran. How may I help you?”

“Hi. This is Craig. Is it too late to call you?”

She’d have to get used to his voice. It did strange things to her. She sat up in bed and turned on the light. “Hi, Craig. If I don’t go out, I try to get in bed by ten-thirty, because I get up early. I just crawled in, but I was not asleep. Are you safely at home?”

“Yes. I’m home. I called because I want to do something that I thought I’d better not try when we were together.” She held her breath and waited. “I want to kiss you good-night.”

“Oh,” she said, after gathering her wits.

His laughter rolled through the wire, exciting and arousing her. How she wished she could see his face when he laughed like that. “Are you saying you’re glad I didn’t kiss you or that you don’t want me to kiss you now? Which is it?” he asked her.

“Neither. And stop trying to push me into a corner. Kiss me and let me go to sleep.” She wanted to bite her tongue, but a lot of good that would do.

“Part your lips just a little,” he said in a low, whispered tone. “Just enough for me to slip in. Feast a little bit and let me know you enjoy it. Now, take me in fully, and let me love you. Good night, Kisha.”

“Hey, don’t you dare hang up!”

“Why not. That was the sweetest kiss imaginable, so I thought it was the perfect time for us to say good-night.”

“You practically hypnotized me, and I’ve never heard of anybody doing that over the phone.”