Sealed With a Kiss. Gwynne Forster
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“Of course I don’t; I hate unpleasantness, especially when it’s criminal. What does this have to do with Cat Meade? Cat was the leading NFL wide receiver for five straight years. Didn’t you ever watch the ’Skins?”
“Oh, come on, girl. You know I can’t stand violence, and those guys are always knocking each other down.”
Marva laughed. Naomi loved to hear the big, lusty laugh that her friend delighted in giving full rein.
“Now I understand your real problem,” Marva told her. “You haven’t been looking at all those cute little buns in those skintight stretch pants.”
“You’re hopeless,” Naomi sighed. “What about Meade? Did he quit because he was injured, or does he still play?”
“From what I heard, he stopped because he’d made enough money to be secure financially, and he’d always wanted to be a writer. He’s a very prominent print journalist, and he’s well respected, or so I hear. Why? Are you interested in him?”
In for a penny; in for a pound. “He’s got something, as we used to say in our days at Howard U, but he and I are like oil and water. And it’s just as well, because I think we also basically distrust each other. He doesn’t care much for career women, and I was raised by a male chauvinist, so a little of that type goes a long way with me. Grandpa’s antics stick in my craw so badly that I’m afraid I accuse Rufus unfairly sometimes. Why do you call him ‘Cat’? That’s an odd name for a guy as big as he is.”
Marva’s sigh was impatient and much affected. “When are you going to learn that things don’t have to be what they seem? They called him Cat, because the only living thing that seemed able to outrun him were a thoroughbred horse and cheetah, and he moved down the field like a lithe young panther. My mouth used to water just watching him.” The latter was properly supported by another deep sigh, Naomi noted.
“I hope you’ve gotten over that,” she replied dryly.
“Oh, I have; he’s not running anymore,” Marva deadpanned. “And besides, it’s my honey who makes my mouth water these days.” She paused. “Naomi, I’ve only met Cat a few times at social functions, and I doubt that he’d even remember me. Of course, any woman with warm blood would remember him. Go for it, kid.”
“You’re joking. The man’s a chauvinist.” She told her about his statement when he’d appeared on Capitol Life, supporting her disdain, but she could see that Marva wasn’t impressed.
“Naomi, honey,” she crooned in her slow Texas drawl, “why are you so browned off? If isn’t like you to let anybody get to you like this. Lots of guys think like that; the point is to change him…or to find one who doesn’t.”
“Never mind,” Naomi told her, “I should have known you wouldn’t find it in your great big heart to criticize a live and breathing man.”
She assured herself that she wouldn’t be calling him Cat. “I don’t care how fast he was or is.” They’d been having a pleasant few minutes together the night he’d brought the boys to her apartment, and she had asked him a simple, reasonable question. After all, a working journalist couldn’t take twin toddlers on assignment, so who kept them while he worked? But he was supersensitive about it. That one question was all it had taken to set him off. Then, down at the Tidal Basin, he’d nearly kissed her. She should never have let him touch her. Why the heck wasn’t he consistent? The torment she felt as a result of that almost kiss just wouldn’t leave her. She hoped he was at least a little bit miserable. What she wouldn’t give to be secure in a man’s love! His love? She didn’t let herself answer.
Naomi’s contemplations of the day’s events as she dressed hurriedly that evening for an emergency board meeting at OLC was interrupted by the telephone. Linda’s voice triggered a case of mild anxiety in her; the girls at OLC were not allowed to call their tutors at home.
“What is it, Linda?”
The unsteadiness in the girl’s voice told her that there might be a serious problem.
“I hated to call you at home, but I didn’t know what else to do. My mama says I can’t go on the retreat. I won a scholarship, and it won’t cost anything, but she says I can’t go.”
Naomi sat down. Maude Frazier and OLC would wait. “Did she say why?”
“Yes. She said I’ll do more good here at home helping her and working in the drugstore than I will wasting two weeks with a gang of kids drawing pictures. She said she never wants to see another piece of crayon. What will I do?”
Naomi pushed back her disappointment; how would the girl ever make it with so little support? “I’ll speak with your principal. Don’t worry too much. We have two months in which to work out a strategy and get your mother’s approval, but I’m sure the principal can handle this. Why didn’t you tell me that you won a scholarship? How many were there?”
“One. I didn’t tell you, because I figured Mama wouldn’t want me to go.” Naomi beamed, her face wreathed in smiles. She wished that she could have been with Linda to give her a hug. She doubted the girl received much affection; she certainly didn’t get the approval and encouragement that her talent deserved.
“Just one scholarship for the entire junior high school, and you won it? I’m proud of you, Linda, and I’m going to do everything possible to help you get those two weeks of training. I’ll see you in a couple of days?” The conversation was over, but it had an almost paralyzing effect on Naomi. What was her own child going through? Were its parents loving and understanding? Did they encourage it? It! God how awful! She didn’t even know whether she’d had a girl or a boy.
She hurriedly put on a slim skirted, above the knee dusty rose silk suit with a silk cowl necked blouse of matching color, found some navy accessories, and left home having barely glanced at herself in a mirror. She knew that color always set off her rich brown skin, and when she wore lipstick of matching color, her only makeup, as she did now, the effect was simple elegance. She arrived precisely on time and was not surprised when, at the minute she seated herself at the long oval table, Maude Frazier, the board’s president and arbiter of social class among the African American locals, lowered the gavel. “Now that we’re all here, let us begin our work.”
Naomi considered Maude’s philosophy, that if you weren’t early, you were late, autocratic, and unreasonable. One morning, either in this life or the next, Maude was going to wake up and discover that she really wasn’t the English queen. Naomi got immense pleasure from the thought.
Maude’s announcement that they had a guest brought Naomi’s gaze around the table until she found Rufus Meade sitting there looking directly at her. Her reaction at seeing him unexpectedly was the same as always. Tension gathered within her and her heartbeat accelerated when he dipped his head ever so slightly in a greeting and let his lush mouth curve in a half smile. She knew the minute he responded to the fire that she couldn’t suppress, that the tension pulsing between them was a sleeping volcano ready to erupt. She felt her heart flutter madly and shifted nervously in her chair as Maude opened the discussion.
She would not have anticipated that the talks would become so heated. The meeting ended, and she realized from Rufus’s facial expression that he was furious with her. She believed her argument—that One Last Chance existed to be a buffer between distressed girls and the cruelty of society—was the correct one. And she was amazed when Rufus took the position that what she really wanted was for the foundation to be a shelter for delinquents. She hoped he wasn’t a poor looser; several board members sided with him, but the majority supported her.
She was wrong, and he would straighten her out, he vowed, forcing himself to remain calm while, oblivious to onlookers, he ushered her to the elevator and on to the little office where she tutored. “I know there are special circumstances, but we have to be very careful when we’re deciding what they are.”
“I’m already familiar with your brand of compassion,” she told him, with what he recognized as exaggerated sweetness; “it