A Love So Deep (20 page)

As Rita turned her head to back out of the parking spot, she spotted the folded piece of paper she had thrown on the seat beside her. After finally navigating her way onto the street, Rita reached over and picked up the piece of paper and put it in her purse to read later. Right now, she had a date with Graham, and she needed him to take all her blues away.

S
ister
Mary Ross dropped her packages on the living room floor, puffing as she sank down into the nearest chair. Shopping was a chore and made Sister Mary hungry. She was too tired to get up and go into the kitchen and decided to catch her breath and rumble through all the pretty things she’d picked up.

Dumbfounded was Sister Mary Ross when she entered Victoria’s Secret. She had never ventured into the lingerie store before, and to find it filled with so many fabulous colors and styles of panties and bras was overwhelming. Lacy, padded, and provocative were the adjectives to describe the high-priced lingerie Mary thought only models wore. Only white cotton underwear ever touched her body because white was pure, but she was ready to get worldly for her man.

Fancy sleepwear made Mary blush as she brushed her face against a few of the furry pieces. Unable to resist the silk-like material of the others, she took them between her fingers to feel the texture of the rich fabric. Mary grabbed a few pieces, deciding it was all or nothing.

Next she ventured to one of the display tables and hesitantly picked up a gorgeous, peach, lacy bra that one of the salesladies claimed would give her breasts a nice full lift. She held it up imagining what her breasts would look like in it. As if on cue, an image of Graham leapt before her, gazing at her 38D’s that filled its cups like homemade cupcakes. Graham was licking his lips while his eyes bulged from their sockets from the sight of it all.

The vision was clear, and Mary not only took the peach bra, she selected a black one and picked out matching panties and camisoles for the both of them. Mary was pleased, and marched up to the cashier to pay for her purchases.

She felt younger at this moment than she had her whole life. She was beginning to understand what Loretha meant by making yourself presentable, pretty, because you feel like a whole new person.

Mary was going to get her man. Although it had begun to rain heavily outside, it was not going to deter her from her planned rendezvous with the best department stores in town. She headed for Macy’s across the Bay.

Mary’s wardrobe was plain and simple. Pastel-colored shirtwaist dresses consumed one-half of her small walk-in closet while two suits, one white the other black, occupied a small space at the far end. Several blouses in varying colors hung proudly in front of the dresses, each waiting its turn to accompany whichever suit Mary wore each Sunday. Sling-backs and one-inch pumps dotted the sparse closet floor accompanied by an able-bodied pair of Nike sneakers.

People scurried in all different directions. Men and women in their business suits, others in the uniform of their profession, raced to catch the city bus, cable car, or BART. Market Street was a main arterial through downtown San Francisco, and when Mary stood in front of Macys, it shadowed over her like a towering giant. Ross’ department store was the extent of Mary’s shopping excursions, and those excursions were few and far between.

Counters and aisles were threaded throughout the store like a giant maze. It made Mary dizzy and unsure which way to go. She turned right, then left and found she had made a complete circle becoming totally disoriented in the process.

Then she spied the counters of fine perfume—Chanel, Givenchy, Tommy, Perry Ellis, Calvin and Donna—packaged in exciting bottles that glittered on glass countertops like jewels in a treasure chest. It held Mary captive, and she took the liberty to sniff each one. Finally settling on a 2.4-ounce bottle of Pleasures by Estee Lauder, Mary walked into the maze to find the women’s department.

She was amazed at the large selection of women’s clothing from blazers and vests, dresses, coats and jackets, hats, scarves, gloves, and jeans—which didn’t interest Mary at all. She scanned one section at a time feeling the fabrics as she passed. She had never bought a
designer
dress or suit, and now she stood among several racks of fine dresses and suits by Ralph Lauren, Rena Rowan, Jones New York, and DKNY.

Some of the pieces were more stunning than she had imagined. A double-breasted, tailored, navy blazer by Ralph Lauren with its signature gold buttons that ran down the front caused Mary’s mouth to gape open—especially the price. It was sporty and elegant, and if Mary was going to give herself a total makeover, she would need a classic blazer like this one in her wardrobe.

But it was the slinky, black-crinkle velvet dress by Ralph Lauren that caught her attention. Mary knew immediately this would be the dress that would win Graham over.

Packages hung from every arm. Mary found a diamond heart pendant that was the perfect complement for her dress. A pair of ankle-strap pumps by Antonio Mellani completed her outfit. A couple pairs of slacks and a smart tweed suit in a drab olive rounded out her purchases.

Now Mary sat in the middle of her living room surrounded by her new finery. In the morning, she was going to the hairdresser for a brand-new hairdo.

By this time tomorrow, Mary planned to be in the arms of her man.

R
ita
was up early busying herself in the kitchen. The whistle on the teakettle broke the silence just as Graham rounded the corner.
She was beautiful
, he thought as he watched Rita flitting around. Her long, satin, egg-shell-colored negligee flowed effortlessly with every movement—an angelic being.

“Breakfast?” she asked, turning ever so slightly and catching her man gazing at her.

“I’d love some.”

It was remarkable how much Rita reminded Graham of Amanda at that moment. In the same kitchen and with the same easy movements. It was almost eerie to look at her. It was certainly a testament to Graham’s taste in women—although forty years had lapsed since he’d first asked Amanda to be his lady, then his wife.

Graham watched as Rita moved from cabinet to cabinet, assessing the provisions available to make breakfast. Rita pulled down a box of instant grits along with a box of pancake mix. She reached in the refrigerator for a carton of eggs and began the process of fixing Graham’s breakfast.

The kitchen came alive, and the wonderful smells engulfed the room and a broad smile crossed Graham’s face. He walked up behind Rita and put his arms around her waist while she stirred the pancake batter and poured it onto the hot grill—just the way he had put his arms around Amanda when she fried chicken the very first time as his wife. Rita shooed him away just as Amanda had done, and Graham glanced about the room as if Amanda might possibly be overseeing things.

The bacon sizzled and the pancakes danced in hot grease. Graham snuggled up to Rita who offered little resistance. It drove Graham crazy. He sniffed at the faint smell of her perfume and slowly began to kiss her on the neck and then along her shoulders, dragging his tongue along the journey, following the road map to succulent breasts that he tenderly planted kisses upon. Rita trembled as he continued to warm her with his kisses. Then he loosened the lonely button on her robe and reached between it and her negligee, gently caressing her breasts as his hands glided effortlessly over the smooth fabric.

“Ouch,” Rita shouted, swiftly pulling her arm away from the grill.

“I’m so sorry, Rita. Let me put some ice on it,” Graham said, grabbing Rita’s hand. “Just a little burn, but we don’t want it to welt.” He kissed her on the nose.

“Look, you’re going to have to make up your mind. You’re either going to eat breakfast or make love to me.”

“You drive a hard bargain, madam; you know what I’d rather do.”

“Eat your breakfast,” Rita said as she placed plates on the table. Rita reached over and placed a quick peck on Graham’s lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Graham quickly washed dishes while Rita finished her last cup of coffee. They sat silently for a while enjoying the peace and solitude. Rita brought her empty coffee cup to the sink to be washed and placed a friendly kiss on Graham’s cheek. Graham dropped the dishcloth into the water and quickly scooped Rita into his arms, encircling the whole of her, and he placed hot, passionate kisses upon her face.

Their bodies joined together, becoming one fluid pattern as Rita returned searing hot kisses upon Graham. They moaned and swooned until they fell against the kitchen table in an uncontrollable outburst of passion—passion that bubbled like crude oil—sweat pouring from their bodies. Their bodies moved in a continuous rhythm. Rita’s head fell backward as Graham sprinkled her body with kisses and then exchanged places and repeated the same exercise all over again. Then Graham slid the thin straps from Rita’s shoulders, letting the bodice of her negligee fall around his hands—fighting to release them so he could take each breast in his hands as he swooped down on them with his waiting tongue—gently tasting them, making love to them as if nothing else mattered.

Graham tended to Rita like a sculptured piece he had worked on for some time, chiseling each section slowly and meticulously, becoming drunk from the very essence of his creation. Rita rubbed Graham’s head, caressing his shoulders, pulling gently with her fingers the pajama top that already lay open, exposing his well-kept body that had more than a lifetime of appeal. Their bodies were past their prime, but they had many more years of sexual dexterity left in them. Graham lifted Rita and carried her to his bedroom where they spent the better part of the morning getting to know each other better.

The doorbell startled Rita and Graham. They had fallen into a light sleep and lost track of time. Graham rolled over and peered at the clock on the nightstand. It was two in the afternoon, and time was slipping away fast. Rita would be boarding a plane back to Seattle in less than twenty-four hours.

It must be the parcel postman at the door,
Graham thought, trotting toward the front door to silence the menacing sound of the doorbell. Graham was bathed in the scent of a lover’s potion, his face glistened with the sweat from the inferno he had found himself. In his haste to get to the door, Graham was clad only in his blue silk pajama bottom with his upper body exposed to the world—a forest of ashen bushes. His bare feet marked the path—the path of his eventual return to the woman who lay waiting for him in all her splendor.

Graham jerked on the doorknob, realizing he needed to unlatch it first. He had made sure the door was secured this time so as not to have a nasty replay of events like the Sunday Deborah and Liz had barged in. He had almost lost Rita that day, and to ensure it wouldn’t happen again, Graham took the liberty of having the locks changed without the girls’ knowledge. After all, it was his home, and if their keys didn’t work, they had another place they could go. However, neither Deborah nor Liz had been back to the house since that day. Nevertheless, Graham was taking no chances.

“Just a minute,” Graham shouted through the door, finally unlocking the last lock, anxious for all the commotion to be over. So anxious was Graham that he never thought to peer out the window to get a look at his visitor.

With the last lock unlatched, Graham swiftly pulled the door open to find a well-coiffed woman in her mid-fifties standing on his porch. Her dark auburn hair was cut short and tapered in the back. Several small rows of precision curls circled the small of her head while crisp, starched, and neatly cut bangs hung an inch above her eyes. Two-carat diamond studs sparkled from the lobes of each ear only to enhance the barber’s meticulous handiwork.

Graham’s eyes fell the length of the woman who wore a slinky black velvet dress with shoes that were a perfect complement. Perfect breasts rose and fell and tugged at the bodice of her dress while just enough material was allotted to accommodate her dangerous, ample hips.
A perfect “ten,”
Graham thought, if he was judging a beauty pageant. And rounding out the perfect wardrobe was a small, black designer bag that hung from her shoulders.

Her face was beautiful—straight from the pages of
Essence
magazine’s Health and Beauty section. Rich earth colors complemented her eyes with a twinge of reddish-brown blush highlighting her cheekbone—defining features that had once been lost on her. A black eyeliner pencil was used on the base of her eyelids to make her features stand out and her face round and full. A nice earth-tone lipstick completed the look that made this woman divine.

But the face looked familiar—a sly, seductive smile taking shape. And now, Graham suddenly realized he was naked from the waist up. The way the woman twitched back and forth, it appeared Graham might have evoked some fantasy this woman was concocting. Then he looked harder into the eyes that met his, those steely, confident eyes that said she was here for something and was not leaving until she got it. And then that smile.

“Sister Mary Ross?” Graham gasped, his mouth flying open upon discovery. “Is that you?”

“You don’t want to keep a woman standing on your porch like this do you?”

“Ahh, Sister Ross…”

“Mary, Graham. Please call me Mary. We’ve known each other long enough that we can be on a first-name basis.”

“Mary…this isn’t a good time. You see, I’m not dressed,” Graham stammered, wanting to cover his chest but unwilling to leave her there while he went to get his robe for fear she’d follow.

“Surely you’re not going to let me just stand outside.”

Graham was silent.

“Well, if you’re not going to invite me in, I’ll invite myself.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I…”

Mary breezed past Graham getting up enough nerve to let her hand graze across his chest, allowing it to linger in his ashen forest longer than she dared. Graham tried to grab her, to keep her from going farther into the house, but it was too late.

Mary circled the living room, finally turning to rest her eyes on Graham who stood in the middle of the room like a lost sheep. His body was well kept, although the hairs on his chest gave his age away. Mary’s eyes continued to roam the length of Graham’s body, finally resting on the silk pajama bottom with the convenient peephole, staring at it as if wondering what lay beyond its door. There was lust in her eyes, and if she hadn’t been half the Christian she claimed to be, she would have been all over Graham within seconds.

But Mary was unsure what to do. Even though this luscious creature stood statuesque in front of her—an Oscar waiting to be picked up—she could not reach out and grab it. She had never been with a man, at least not like that, and Mary became exasperated by the thought. Now she looked foolish—all up in this man’s house—a man she had loved most of her adult life but always from a distance. And she knew she looked good; she could see it in his eyes—the way he gawked at her.

“Graham,” Mary started, choked up at what she was about to admit. “I’m sorry. I had no right coming here, barging in on you like this.”

She is finally making some sense
, Graham thought. “It’s okay, Mary.”

“Let me finish. I’ve been in love with you, Graham Peters, for a long, long time.” Mary avoided the startled look in Graham’s eyes—and then the look of disgust. “I remember when I laid eyes on you the first time I went to church with my cousin Loretha. It was love at first sight, but you were married to Amanda.

“I waited, hoping that maybe you and Amanda would break up, and then, just maybe I would have a chance. But as you very well know, that wasn’t to be. There were days when I hated Amanda—even envied her all those years for having what I believed I should have had. I don’t know what made me think that, but I did.

“And then,” Mary paused, not sure if she wanted to divulge what she was thinking, but allowed it to seep through her lips anyway, “Amanda died, and I suddenly felt this was a blessing from God. I had another chance.”

Mary watched Graham’s expression change. She hurried on—afraid he would throw her out. She needed to explain, and maybe Graham would have some compassion and embrace her after all. It was worth all she had gone through.

“I’m sorry,” Mary ran on, not giving Graham an opportunity to get a word in, “for all the mess I’ve caused—you know…with the church and your in-laws. I wasn’t thinking.” Mary looked thoughtfully at Graham. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I just became unglued when I saw you with that other woman.”

Graham began shifting absently from one foot to another. Mary noticed it as well, paused and continued on.

“Anyway, from somewhere deep inside an idea came to me—an answer to a prayer, maybe. In any event, I knew what I had to do to get your attention. So I pulled off the layers of my old self and found a new me—one I rather like. It makes me feel good, Graham. And I had hoped by coming here today, you would see the new me that I’ve discovered, but I’ve realized a little too late that I’ve gone about it the wrong way.”