Hidden Memories (29 page)

Sage snapped her fingers. “I just got a great idea. If we can track down some of the families of the authors and painters when we officially announce the new additions, we can invite them and local artists to the Mansion for the opening reception.”

“Reception?”

“I want to present this positively. So when we add the new artwork, I think a reception would be the appropriate forum, an unveiling of sorts.”

“I like that,” Sarah said, nodding.

“We need to be prepared to counter the negative fallout. When it becomes public that we’re adding art and literature by black artists, a lot of people and organizations are going to be upset.”

“Try furious,” Sarah said. “I’ve met some of the grand ladies of Georgia. Believe me, they don’t believe in cultural diversity.”

“I’ve got a list of black art galleries we can check out. My girlfriend Tawny is looking for me. As a matter of fact, there’s going to be a showing at the Hammonds House next week. Would you like to go?”

“Sure.”

“It’s Tuesday night at seven o’clock.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

* * * * *

Shrimp and scallops sizzled in the wok, mixed with mushrooms, bamboo shoots, snap peas and Oriental vegetables. Ramion poured soy sauce into the mixture and stirred the food around.

“Smells good,” Sage said, peeking over his shoulder.

“Hmm,” Ramion said, spearing a scallop with a fork. “Taste it.”

“Ummh, delicious.”

“It’s not too soft, is it?”

“No, it’s ready. Let’s eat.” Sage picked up a plate from the counter and handed it to Ramion.

He loaded the dish with his teriyaki, stir-fried meal. He turned off the wok, then went to the table.

“We have to start working on my campaign,” Ramion said, tasting his food. “Pass me the soy sauce.”

Sage handed him the bottle. “You read my mind. I’ve been thinking about it, and you’re right, it is time to start working on it.”

“I don’t have to declare my candidacy until August 1,” Ramion said.

“But you have to start laying the foundation. The earlier the better. That is, if you really want to win.” Sage stuck her fork into the salad.

“Of course I want to win. Why else would I run?”

Sage shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Publicity, name recognition, to attract new clients for your practice.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“You’re getting a lot of media attention. You could run for district attorney. That’s a very powerful position.”

“True. But that’s not what I want.”

“Okay, Ramion. I just want to make sure there isn’t a hidden agenda that you haven’t let me in on.”

“No hidden agendas, baby. I’m going for the state senate seat. From there, I want to go to Congress.”

“You’re serious about Washington?”

“In four years.”

“First you’ve got to get the state seat.”

“Yeah, and I’m a little worried about losing key supporters. Paul Gates backed out of chairing my Fund-Raising Committee.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It just never seemed the right time,” Ramion said.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“If you were still with Edwin’s law firm, you’d have Paul’s support.”

“That’s a moot point.”

“Edwinna isn’t,” Sage said.

“She’s just blowing smoke.”

“Uh-huh, and where there’s smoke, there’s often fire.”

“She’s going to have to run as an independent, and she can’t win on an independent ticket. The Republican candidate, Roosevelt Hartman, is retiring, and the party doesn’t have anybody strong. That’s why I decided to run this year, instead of waiting a couple more years.”

“Ramion, there isn’t anything in your past that could hurt you, is there?”

“You mean, are there any skeletons in my closet?”

“Exactly, and if there are, we need to have a contingency plan in case skeletons start talking.” Sage had been teasing for the most part, but she noticed the troubled look on Ramion’s face that had replaced the confident smile and expectant gleam in his eyes.

She laid her fork on the table, unconsciously bracing herself for the worst. “What is it?” she asked softly.

“It’s about Mackie.”

Sage had only seen pictures of Ramion’s brother in family photo albums, and most of the pictures were of Ramion and Mackie together. But Mackie had been in jail for the past five years. How could anything to do with him hurt Ramion’s future? Perplexed, she asked, “What about Mackie?”

“I represented him. He was my first case.”

Sage suddenly felt her stomach knot.

“I didn’t want to represent him, but Pops insisted, and Mackie didn’t want anybody but me. It was a drug charge, a simple possession case, and it was the first time Mackie had ever been arrested. He should have gotten probation.”

The nervous feeling in Sage’s stomach intensified.

“The DA lied to me about the evidence, completely blindsiding me. I told Mackie to plead guilty, promised him he would get probation, but he wanted a trial. He was confident he’d be exonerated. So we went to court, and the undercover detective lied on the witness stand. He said the police report was wrong, that Mackie had more drugs on him, and that he had sold his niece some bad drugs that had caused her death.”

“You knew nothing about this?” Sage said, disbelief in her voice.

“There was nothing in the police report, and when I talked to both of them, I took them at their word. The DA added new charges. Believe me, I learned all about cops and glory-hung prosecutors.”

“What happened?”

He drank some of his soda. “The jurors were sympathetic to the detective and bought into the story about his niece. The jury found Mackie guilty and the judge handed down a sentence more fitting for a mass murderer.” Ramion blotted his mouth with a paper napkin, then crumbled it in his hand.

Sage stood up and walked around the table. She stood behind him and placed her arms around his neck, squeezing tight. “I’m sorry, honey. That had to be hard to deal with.” She massaged his shoulders and then said, “But that shouldn’t destroy your campaign.”

Ramion tilted his head back and looked up at Sage. “Sit down, baby. That’s not the end of the story.”

She kissed him on the forehead before returning to her chair. “Plenty of lawyers lose cases and still get elected.”

“Do they beat up the star witness?”

“What?!” Sage asked, dropping her fork on her plate with a loud bang.

“I followed the detective, Danny Gibson, and when I caught him alone in an alley, I beat the shit out of him.”

Sage covered her face with her hands. “Ramion! You didn’t!”

“He took my brother’s life away in so many ways and because of a woman.”

Confused, Sage said, “What woman?”

“He did have a niece who died from an overdose. But she OD’d on speed, not cocaine, and there was no connection between her and Mackie. The detective had a mistress, though, and when Mackie started messing with the girl, she ended her relationship with the detective. The jerk was very upset.”

“Mackie was dating his girlfriend?” Sage asked, incredulous. Confused, she shook her head, “You said she was his mistress. Was the detective married?”

“Yes, but he claimed to be in love with the girl he had on the side, and then Mackie comes along. She dumps the detective for Mackie, and that’s when all the trouble starts. The detective framed Mackie, and…”

“You beat him up?” Sage asked, finding it hard to believe that her mild-mannered fiancé could be violent. He’d once told her he used to argue his way out of fights when he was in high school.

“I kicked his ass, and I’m sorry to say it, but the bastard deserved it. As a man I was right as rain, but as an attorney I was dead wrong.”

“Did he press charges against you?”

“No, but only because I knew about some of his dirty dealings. I knew about some of the other officers in his department too. I watched him for a week before I did anything, and I learned a lot.”

“So nothing happened?”

“No, he didn’t do anything, because I had the power to destroy him. But what I’m worried about is the present. He’s been suspended from the police force, and he’s having financial problems. He had to sell his home, and then his wife left him,” Ramion said, before standing up. “With problems like his, you can never be sure what a person like him will do. That’s the only snake in the closet that may come out to bite me.”

* * * * *

The wedding was four months away, and Sage still hadn’t selected a gown. She had searched through catalogs and racks of gowns at bridal boutiques, but she wasn’t satisfied with her choices. She was considering a custom gown and hoped that the designer she was about to hire would have the creativity, talent and time to make the wedding gown she envisioned.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” Sage said to a Hispanic woman bent over a sewing machine, guiding the sleeve of a wedding dress under the needle in a precise, straight line. The dark-haired woman looked up at Sage, her eyes darting about nervously. “I’m looking for the designer Xavier Xandu,” Sage said, carrying her Day-Timer and an envelope stuffed with pictures of wedding gowns.

“No speak English,” the woman said, pointing to the stairs at the back of the building.

Sage walked past several rows of sewing machines and bolts of fabric, heading toward the staircase. Along the way, she stopped several times to ask for directions before finally finding Xavier’s office.

“I thought I’d never find you,” Sage said, when she marched into Xavier Xandu’s office. She towered over the fashion designer, who reminded her of one of the Keebler elves. He had a round brown face and a long fluffy beard. He was extremely short, four feet nine inches. A frayed measuring tape hung around his neck, and a pincushion wristband was fastened on his wrist.

“Ah, Miss Kennedy,” Xavier said. “I’m sorry about the miscommunication. My secretary stepped away from the office. Otherwise she would have paged me,” he explained while removing bolts of fabric from a chair. “Have a seat.”

Sage sat in the only chair in the crammed office.

“It’s been a hectic morning,” he said apologetically, closing the door to drown out the sounds of the throbbing sewing machines. “I just got a very special order. It’s supposed to be confidential, but I have to tell someone. You must swear to keep it a secret,” Xavier said, placing his index finger over his mouth. “Calvin Klein wants to use my designs for his spring collection.”

“How wonderful,” she said, wondering whether to be impressed or skeptical. “That will certainly get you some recognition.”

“Big-time.” He spun around and raised his arms in the air, sputtering, “Oh thank you, God! Thank you!” He caught Sage’s bemused expression. “Excuse me, I’m just beside myself with joy.” Xavier reached for the half-filled cup of coffee sitting on the edge of his cluttered desk. “Now back to reality,” he said, giving Sage an assessing stare over the reading glasses perched atop his nose. “You were referred by a very good friend of mine.”

“Daphine Struthers. I attended her wedding last year, and her gown was absolutely beautiful,” Sage said, as her eyes traveled to the montage of pictures hanging on the walls. There were pictures and sketches of wedding gowns, evening gowns and cocktail dresses.

“Thank you, dear. I see that you have good taste. That’s a Donna Karan outfit you’re wearing. Nice touch,” he complimented, pointing to the butterfly diamond pin on the collar of her black-and-white houndstooth pantsuit.

“Are all those pictures your designs?”

“Yes, I won’t display other people’s work.”

“My little sister wants to be a fashion designer,” Sage said. “She’d find this place exciting.”

“Bring her down. I’d love to show her around and give her tips about the big, bad fashion industry.” He took a sip of coffee and made an ugly face. “Ugh, this is cold.” He moved to the lone file cabinet in the corner of his small office, where a coffeepot sat. “Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Sage replied. “I’ve been looking for a wedding gown, and I haven’t found the right one. I’ve seen some I like. The style or the cut is right, but there’s always something about them that turns me off. So here I am.”

“Do you have a picture in your mind?”

“Yes, something elegant and glamorous, but not too frilly or too weddingish, if you know what I mean. I don’t want traditional. I want something with some funk, some style. A gown so unique and stunning it leaves me breathless.”

“Ummh,” Xavier said, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “What kind of neckline do you like? High-collared…”

“Oh, don’t cover me up!”

“You want cleavage,” Xavier teased.

With a rueful smile, Sage said, “I brought some pictures of gowns I like.” Sage opened the envelope and removed several pictures of wedding gowns, torn from different bridal magazines. “I like the cut of this gown, the detailing on this one, the train on this one.” She spread the pictures on his desk, pushing aside stacks of fabric samples and patterns. “Can you somehow put all of this together into one gorgeous wedding gown?”