Fools Rush In. Gwynne Forster
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don’t smoke.”
“Everybody needs at least one virtue. Good for you”
“All right. All right. You’ll be glad to know that I just hired a nanny for Tonya.”
“You mean you’ve given up the idea of marrying somebody to mother her? It’s a dumb idea, anyway.”
“No, I haven’t, Miss know-it-all, but I haven’t found anyone who suits me, and I needed somebody to look after Tonya. So I hired Justine Taylor.”
“Well, this I’ve got to see. Is she good-looking?”
Trust Leah to focus on a side issue. “Among other attributes. See ya.” He hung up and called Wayne Roundtree in Baltimore.
“Say, man, I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Duncan said when Wayne held the receiver a long time before speaking.
“Nah. I had to shake a couple of pests a few minutes ago, and I fully intended to hang up the minute I recognized either one of them. That’s the life of a managing editor. What’s up?”
Duncan trained his ear in the direction of Tonya’s room. No, she wasn’t crying, only talking. “I just hired a nanny. She won’t be on the job ’til Saturday, and I want to spend a few days at home after she starts to be sure she and Tonya get on. So I’d like to postpone work on that municipal bribery case.”
“Okay, but I hope it doesn’t break in The Sun or The Afro-American. What does she look like?”
“Who?”
“You know who I mean. This nanny you hired.”
Duncan leaned back in the big barrel chair, propped his left knee over his right one, and grinned. “Not worth a backward glance, man. And, I’m going to introduce her to Listerine mouthwash the minute she walks back into this house.”
His ears hummed with Wayne’s roar of laughter. “No kidding. She must be a knockout. When can I come over for…well, for dinner?”
“Come to think of it, I’m planning a dinner party soon as my sister can get over here to help me. I owe everybody I know an invitation.”
“Count me in. I have to meet this poor unfortunate nanny you hired. Let me know when you can get on that case.”
“Will do. In a couple of days, I’ll fax you my story on ward politics.”
“Right on, man.”
Duncan hung up and went into Tonya’s room to turn out the lamp beside her bed and put on her night light. It worried him that she feared the darkness so much. Maybe having Justine—someone who’d be with her all the time—would give her a greater sense of security. Justine. Why had he felt so comfortable with her? He’d swear that she had in some way been a part of his life.
Chapter 2
Justine took an old purse from a shelf in her closet and, for the first time in twelve months, looked at the picture taken of Tonya at birth. The little red spot at the top her right ear was now brown, but it was there, the final proof that she had found her baby. She needed to talk with someone, anybody. But who? She couldn’t expect another person not to divulge a secret as ripe for gossip and, at the same time, as potentially damaging as hers. She replaced the photo and lay down and, for the first time since Kenneth’s death, she slept through the night, and no horrible memories invaded her dreams.
She rose early the next morning and began preparing for life as her child’s nanny. Her first act was to phone Big Al, editor of The Evening Post. “You’re on, Al,” she squeaked out, less sure of her decision than when she’d made it. “As of now, I’m Aunt Mariah. I have to get a post office box. I’m moving to Tacoma Park, Al. You’ll get it all by fax sometime tomorrow.”
“Right. Soon as I get your P.O. address, I’ll tell the world not to be troubled any longer,” he crooned in his booming voice. “Aunt Mariah will solve all their problems. Just give ’em horse sense, babe. That’ll do it every time.”
The next three days were the busiest that she could remember, but knowing she was putting her life in order, folding the page that had been Mrs. Kenneth Montgomery, and beginning a life with her child—however impermanent it might prove to be—energized her and buoyed her spirit.
She got a post office box, closed the deal with the buyer of her house, and bought one of the co-op apartments that her agent reserved for her inspection. Then, she sent the fax to Al, and told her agent to find a tenant for her new apartment. That done, she invited the Salvation Army to come over to her house and take whatever it could sell, except for her blankets and Kenneth’s expensive clothing, which she planned to divide among the homeless men along “East of the River.”
She’d been determined to do it herself, and her stomach rolled from the stench of stale wine, the rags that served as the men’s bedding, the unwashed bodies, and the refuse that some more privileged citizens had thoughtlessly strewn along the street. Their gratitude shamed her, but she persisted until she’d given out all of the blankets, gloves, sweaters, and other clothing. Still, a sense of guilt wouldn’t let her leave the men without food. She counted them, went to the nearest McDonald’s, and got eleven bags of coffee and hamburgers and gave one to each man.
“I would ask the good Lord to bless you,” an older man said to her, “but it looks to me like he’s already done it.”
“You bet,” she answered, feeling good for the first time since she’d parked her car beside the rubble-strewn vacant lot two blocks away. She waved them good-bye and headed home.
Time crawled while her desire to see Tonya escalated. She examined the hands on her watch, thinking that it had stopped. Twice, a coffee cup slipped from her fingers and splattered the brown liquid on her legs and around where she stood. She turned off the radio, unable to tolerate music; even the soft strings of a Mozart quintet jarred her nerves.
Saturday morning arrived and she had to face another truth. The prospect of seeing Duncan Banks again excited her, though not as much as the thought of living with her child, but she gave herself a quick lecture and put Duncan out of her mind.
The response to her single ring of Duncan’s doorbell gave her one of the biggest shocks of her life. Canary-yellow hair—or was it a wig?—topped the tiniest woman she had seen in years. Perhaps ever. And that small face wore enough make-up to camouflage a couple dozen fashion models. If that weren’t enough, the two prominent upper front teeth that decorated the copper-colored woman’s generous mouth—now curved into a smile—sent pictures of Bugs Bunny flashing through Justine’s mind. What on earth?
“Quit staring and come on in,” was the way in which Mattie Swindell introduced herself. Justine resisted asking why she patted her hair when the hair spray on it wouldn’t allow it to move. “I just got it done yesterday,” Mattie explained, oblivious to the fact that Justine hadn’t uttered one word. “It’ll look good like this for two or three days. Where’s your things?”
“They’ll be here later. I’m Justine Taylor.” No wonder Duncan had said he wasn’t sure who she was.
“I know who you are. Mr. B told me to expect you.” Justine had almost gotten her breath when heavy footsteps on the stairs sent her pulse into a tailspin. If she didn’t get a grip on herself, she’d fail before she started. She took a few deep breaths and looked toward the foot of the stairs. “Don’t gasp, girl,” she told herself, when her gaze took in his open-neck yellow T-shirt, white canvas Dockers, and toeless sandals. He stopped within two feet of her, his sleepy, reddish-brown eyes the focal points of the most breathtaking smile she’d ever seen.
“Welcome. What did you do to yourself? I’ve been expecting that nice prim lady who came here the other night.” The fingers of his left hand toyed with the back of his neck. Then he shrugged his right shoulder. It was a series of gestures she’d seen him display several times when he’d interviewed her. A dimple transformed his right cheek, and she wouldn’t have been surprised