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Authors: Gwynne Forster

When You Dance With The Devil (Dafina Contemporary Romance) (15 page)

BOOK: When You Dance With The Devil (Dafina Contemporary Romance)
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While Jolene was gaining a better understanding of herself, Richard had begun to think about Francine more often than he deemed wise. “Would you join me for a swim?” he asked her one Saturday morning in mid-September as they left the dining room after breakfast. “I doubt we’ll have many more opportunities this summer.”
Her hesitation was an unexpected chill, and he fought to shrug it off. He wasn’t accustomed to having a woman turn him down for any reason. A smile began to form on his face and, intent upon enticing her, he reached toward her but immediately withdrew his hand. He had to resist the Richard who charmed his way through life, and he didn’t want to be that man ever again. He intended to make his way honestly and to deal with a straight deck no matter who the person or what the circumstances, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy; a frog is used to croaking, and when night comes, that is what the frog does.
Her smile surprised him, and he was glad he hadn’t shown her that womanizing part of him that he considered his worst side. “Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll be right with you. Meet you at the door,” she said.
Richard leaned against the wall, gazing up at the stairs and, although he knew she was attractive, he hadn’t associated her with the blatant sexiness that her bathing suit and its fishnet coverall revealed. He was about to ask her why she wore that plastic pouch at her hip, its strap crossing her shoulder like a woman’s shoulder bag, but thought better of it. She could be one of those people who always carried identification, though somehow he didn’t believe it. He could get both of his fists into that pouch with room to spare.
He had always loved the feel of sand between his toes, but not on that hot morning. “Want to go in?” he asked her, peeved that she seemed preoccupied with three men who stood together several yards from the water’s edge. The smile that she flashed reminded him of his own shallow charm and the ease with which he had meted it out.
“In a minute,” she said. “This is so new to me.”
He stared at her. Her behavior seemed to him out of character, and it perplexed him as to why. Nevertheless, he didn’t push her, but repaid her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes or touch his lips.
His fingers dug into his hips. “Three beats one anytime.”
But her attention was on the three men. She would have an explanation for it, but he wasn’t sure he cared to hear it. He had come to the beach for a swim so, without another word, he headed for the water.
 
 
Just my luck
, Francine said to herself.
Right down to the pit of my gut, I know he’s the one, but what could I do with Richard Peterson standing three feet from me
? From the corner of her eye, she saw Richard dive into a wave.
And I have to cover my tracks from him, too. He’s sharp
.
She unzipped the sack at her side, took out a pen and small pad, made a few notes, replaced the items, zipped up the pouch and plunged into the water.
“You’re quite a swimmer,” Richard said later, as they sat on a boulder drying themselves in the sun.
She had to be, but he didn’t need to know that. “Thanks. It’s one of my favorite sports.”
He stood. “I’m going back now. If you’re interested in going with me . . .”
He didn’t finish the thought, but she didn’t need more convincing evidence that she had vexed him by paying attention to the three men. “Of course, I’m going back with you,” she said as if he had no reason to doubt it. And to put him on the defensive, she added, “Why do you ask?”
His left eyebrow shot up. “You seemed to have other interests, and I’d be the last one to interfere with your fun.”
She squashed the smart answer that sat on the tip of her tongue, because she was at fault, and he deserved better. “I thought I knew one of those men. I still think so. Nowadays, bald men grow hair, get transplants and wear wigs, and young men dye their hair or shave it off. Some wear contact lenses to change their eye color. You never know.”
“Is it important?”
“I could be wrong,” she answered, finessing his question, “but my hunches are usually right. It’s getting hot. Ready to go?” He didn’t press her for a further explanation as she had known he wouldn’t, and she didn’t plan to offer more. She didn’t like lying, and if she said anything more about it, she would have to lie.
“I enjoyed that swim,” she told him after they entered the boardinghouse. “I hope we can do it again.”
When he didn’t reply, merely smiled and half-bowed, she knew that her response to his question as to whether recognizing the man was important hadn’t satisfied him.
Well, it’s the best I can do
, she said to herself with a shrug and headed up the stairs to her room. There, she emptied the contents of the pouch into her pocketbook, showered, dressed in white slacks, a lavender T-shirt and white sneakers, and took out her cell phone.
“I’m sure it was he,” she said, “but my hands were tied.”
“Not to worry. Dark clouds don’t always bring rain; there’ll be another day and another time.”
“True,” she said and hung up.
 
 
Jolene had spent Saturdays alone in her room, except the times when she had her meals, and by Sunday morning restlessness usually got the better of her. When Fannie called her to the telephone a few minutes after breakfast, she raced down the stairs wondering which of the men she knew would telephone her on Sunday morning.
“Hello,” she said, nearly out of breath.
“Hi, Jolene. I know you don’t usually go to church, and I have an emergency. Could you keep the girls for me this afternoon from one till five? I’ll probably be home before five. Can you? It’s terribly important, Jolene.”
Jolene stared at the phone.
I understand it now
, she said to herself.
You think I’m stupid
. To Vida, she said, “Last time, you knew you’d made me miss my bus, and you didn’t even apologize. You didn’t ask how I got home, either. Well, Vida, I am never going to baby-sit for you again no matter how many emergencies you have. I wanted us to be friends, but I realize I have a lot to learn. Try one of the other girls in the shop. Sorry.” She hung up, and she should have felt good, but she didn’t. She went into the lounge where Judd sat watching the US Open tennis men’s final.
“Sit down. Sit down,” he said. “It’ll be over in a few minutes. I don’t see how those fellows can play in that heat.” She waited with him until one of the players fell to his knees, raised both arms in exaltation, and Judd turned off the television.
“Why don’t I get us some ginger ale,” he said and headed for the machine before she could respond. He opened a bottle, poured half of it into a cup and handed it to her. “It’s nice to have company.”
“Do you . . . uh . . . know any books on friendship that I could get from the library?”
“You looking for a textbook or something casual?”
“Something casual, I guess.”
“Well, a few years ago, sister–friends books were very popular with black women novelists. I read a few of ’em. I could bring you two or three from the library when I go tomorrow night, but you be sure and give ’em back to me. I believe in taking care of library property.”
“Sure I will. Thank you for being so nice, Judd.”
He laid his head to the side and looked at her. “That’s what friends are for, Jolene.”
“Yeah, but they take advantage of you.”
“Only if you let ’em. Your own sisters and brothers will do that if you permit ’em to walk over you. Your husband will do it, too. The way people treat you is up to you.”
“Thanks. All I learned at home was how to clean, scrub, run errands for my mother and my grandmother, cook, and let them make a slave of me. The first thing I ever did all on my own without my mother’s interference was arrange for her funeral, and that was a little more than six months ago. It’s a wonder I know how to walk straight.” She sounded bitter, and she didn’t care, for she
was
resentful.
He sipped his ginger ale and rocked back and forth in the Shaker rocking chair. “Hmm. I take it your mother didn’t have many friends around.”
“She didn’t have any. She didn’t like men, women or children, and she told me more than once that she wished she’d never seen my father. She died like she lived . . . with nobody near but me.”
“Well, I see you’re planning a better life for yourself, and that’s good. The way to have friends is to be a friend, but that doesn’t mean being a footstool for anybody. Friendship is a mutual relationship, and it takes a long time to develop. Treat people the way you want ’em to treat you, and that goes for men as well as women.”
Did he know about her and Gregory or her and Harper? “It’s hard to know how to act with people.”
“No, it isn’t. Always do what’s right, and you don’t have to figure it out.”
In spite of the air conditioning, her body began to perspire and she had to resist fanning herself. “I have a few things to do before lunch, so if you’ll excuse me . . . I enjoyed talking with you. Maybe we can talk again sometime.”
“Sure. That’s the great advantage of living in a place like this. We support each other.”
Inside her room, she closed the blinds to shut out the sunlight that seemed as blistering as if it were mid-July. “Why did I tell him all that? Maybe he knows I made a play for Percy and then turned him down. Lord, I hope not.” She walked to the window, turned and retraced her steps
. I wish I had been nicer to Gregory, but I didn’t know. Mama always said women shouldn’t trust men, that they were only after what they could get, and that we should do to them before they did to us. Maybe she was wrong. I just don’t know.
Around five that afternoon when the sun had become less intense, she went out of the house and stood by the front steps looking across the park. “If I had a car, I’d get in it and just drive and drive,” she said to herself. Without thinking of a destination, she set out down Ocean Road, and when she reached Bay Avenue, she turned toward the beach and continued walking. As she neared the water, she sensed the peacefulness of her surroundings, the quiet broken only by the lapping and sloshing of the distant waves. She sat on a boulder that looked as if it had spent centuries in that spot and wished she’d brought something to read.
The ocean breeze began to cool her skin, the sunrays had disappeared, and she realized that she’d sat there for over an hour.
“It isn’t a good idea to be out here alone late in the day and, in any case, I don’t suppose you want Fannie to lecture you about being late for supper.”
She looked up to see Richard Peterson standing a few feet away. “You’re right. The time just slipped away from me. It’s so peaceful here that I hate to leave.”
“Tourists don’t usually come over here, so we have it to ourselves. It’s what makes living here worthwhile.” He seemed thoughtful. “Look, Miss Tilman. If you’re not busy Tuesdays and Thursdays from four-thirty to six-thirty, we could use you at the library. We hold children’s computer classes then, and—”
She didn’t let him finish it. “I don’t know much about computers, Mr. Peterson, only enough for what I have to do at work.”
“We have a man to teach the children, but we need someone to help me discipline them.”
She could do it, she knew, because her success with Vida’s twins was proof of it, but she couldn’t face Gregory Hicks again. “I’m so beat from standing on my feet all day that I won’t have the energy,” she told him. “And besides, I was just thinking that if I stay here much longer, I’ll grow old with no purpose in life just like my mother. A bitter, unpleasant old woman. I need to leave Pike Hill.”
“Look,” he said, falling into step with her as they headed home, “you have to pull yourself out of this.”
“If you’d been where I’ve been, you’d think I’m doing great.”
He slowed his steps. “What do you mean?”
“Mr. Peterson, the story of my life is long and dreary. I’m working my way out of it as best I can. Something tells me I’m going to have to reinvent myself, and maybe I should begin that somewhere else.”
“I’m anything but an expert on running one’s life, but I can tell you that no matter where you go, your misery goes with you. Best thing is to deal with it right here.”
She stopped and looked at the man with new eyes and a different level of understanding. “Is that what you’re doing?”
He kicked at the sand beneath his feet. “You could say that.”
Encouraged, she said, “I hope you at least had a mother who cared about you.”
He seemed startled before he said, “She dotes on me. What about your father? Didn’t he look out for you?”
She pulled air through her front teeth. “My father? I don’t have the slightest idea who he is.”
“Good Lord. I
am
terribly sorry.” He stopped, evidently disconcerted for having asked her a question that he thought embarrassed her, and she watched, horrified, as his fingers punished his scalp and a frown clouded his face.
BOOK: When You Dance With The Devil (Dafina Contemporary Romance)
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