Always (20 page)

“With all of the polling places closed in the continental United States, NBS News is reporting Ronald Steiner will win in the state of Oregon and Governor Tom wins in his home state of Arizona, but it may be all she wrote for the governor, who is running in single digits in the Golden State, and we are told they will be conceding the race within the hour. Now we will go back once again to the Fontainebleau Hotel and our correspondent, Butch Harper. Butch, can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can, Franklin. As you can see, it's much quieter
and there is an almost spectral aura hovering over the ballroom. After the assassin-in-hiding story broke, about half of the attendees left. The mood is mixed with the supporters who have stayed. Half of the individuals I have spoken with believe it to be a hoax, while the other half want to be in this hall, in spite of what may or may not happen with the alleged assassin, to be a part of history.

As a footnote to the story, Franklin, back in 1933, right here in Miami on the night of Franklin Roosevelt's first election, an assassin made an attempt on his life and actually shot Mayor Cermak of Miami. The gunman, Joe Zingara, was standing only a few feet away from the president-elect when a hundred-pound woman forced up his arm and possibly saved the life of FDR. So there is a historical precedent for the fear in the hall tonight.”

“Butch, has there been any official response from the Davis campaign regarding any of this?”

“Well, no. Throughout the campaign the Davis spokesman, Ed Long, has been adamant about addressing issues as soon as they occur. A sort of ‘nip it in the bud' approach to campaign management. But that has not been the case regarding this issue. The last time we in the press corps saw anyone from the Davis campaign, it was Penelope Richardson addressing the prospects of a Davis divorce. So I do not know if their failure to address this issue is a sign that there are serious problems afoot or that they do not think such an issue merits a comment, and they are instead focusing on the numbers.”

“Butch, do we know if the Davises are even in the hotel at this time? One report indicated they may have been taken to another spot downtown through a service elevator and into their secured limos, while another reported that an FBI helicopter was seen flying away from the roof of the hotel about twenty minutes ago, escorted by two other choppers. Can you confirm either of those stories?”

“I am sorry to report that I have heard both stories and I cannot confirm either. We were told by one source that the senator from Florida was seen with his wife speeding
through downtown Miami in an unmarked vehicle. So as of now we are just awaiting an official word. Possibly the helicopter was a diversion. We don't know at this point.”

“Interesting, Butch. One can only speculate as to what the mood is with Mr. and Mrs. Davis after all of the controversy with their marriage over the past few days, losing their home state of Florida, and now this suspected assassination attempt. NBS election night coverage will resume after this commercial break.”

Carol City, Florida

The Allen Residence

Cheryl looked at her daughter, who was snoring on the couch, and kissed her softly on the forehead. She was abrupt at times and had made some bad choices in her life, but Cheryl knew so many times when she could not count on anyone else, Sarah was a constant force.

After hearing the latest on the campaign, she didn't want to watch anymore, but like a passerby gaping at a car accident, she could not turn away. She would say another prayer for Henry and then pace the room wondering where her husband was. Then the phone rang.

“Hello?”

After a pause, a dark voice said, “It's me. Can you talk?” Cheryl's heart stopped and she could not breathe as she lowered her body into the love seat in front of the muted television.

“Cheryl? Are you there?”

“Yes. Yes, I'm here. Oh my God, I am so scared for you. Is what they're saying true?”

“I don't know. It's something I can't think about. It's a part of this job and I've prepared myself . . . well, as much as one can prepare oneself for this. I always knew it would be a possibility.”

“Henry, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry things worked out like they did.”

“Listen to me. Let's not go there. Things happened and that's that. There is nothing we can do to fix it. I just wanted to call you to say I am sorry. I really don't know why I'm sorry or what I am sorry for, I just know I need to apologize to you. I guess for dragging you into this mess. Reporters are swarming around me . . . I mean Leslie and me, like vultures trying to make everything they even think is happening headline news.”

“Henry, you know you don't have to go there. I've loved you before I knew what love meant, so I know you would never intentionally hurt me.”

“I take it
Brandon's
not home,” he replied after a brief respite.

“No. He, well, he left hours ago and I have no idea where he went. We had a heart-to-heart talk tonight, and you know me, Henry.”

“Are you crying?”

“You probably know me better than anyone in this world outside of Sarah and my mother, and you know I won't lie. I just can't do it. He asked me point-blank if I loved you.”

“And you said?”

“Henry, I just told you. I can't lie to him or anyone else. I told him yes. And then he looked at me and asked me if I loved you more than I loved him. I told him love is different with everyone and that the love you share for your mom is different from the love you share—Well, then he got mad and asked me again. And I told him—” The tears chased each other down Cheryl's face. “I know I shouldn't love you. I know I don't want to love you. Actually, Henry . . . actually I hate loving you. But I do, Henry. For me, our love is for always.” Wiping her nose with a tissue, Cheryl said, “I thought time would erase you from my mind. But the older I get, the
more
I think about us as kids and what we could have been as adults.”

Henry held the phone in silence with the noise from the half-full room of staffers in the background.

“Henry, I have wanted to ask you this since we met again. Henry Davis. Do you love me? I mean really love me? I need to know.”

CHERYL

In 1993, my world started to change, in many ways for the better. For starters, I got my degree in nursing, which I had worked so hard for. I bought a house in a subdivision of North Miami named Carol City, and Jesse James and the foster children I'd taken care of for so many years all left the nest one way or another. It was also the year Brandon Allen reappeared in my world.

I'd not seen Brandon and Chianti' since Darius's funeral. I knew they'd broken up because she saw me in a line at the bank and told me she was moving to North Dakota with a landscape artist. The last time I'd seen Brandon, he'd had six-inch dreads and a baby face, but now he was a full-grown man with a conservative banker haircut parted on the side and a fully matured body. And it had matured in all the right places.

I was at the swap meet when I saw this man dressed in denim jeans and a knit black turtleneck and vest. He caught my eye because he looked mixed. As if he were half man and half amazing. He moved like a long, slow, tender orgasm as he thumbed through the pants the way only men look for clothes, but I knew there was something about him that was vaguely familiar. And then he looked up, and although he had a mustache, I asked, “Brandon? Is that you?”

His mouth opened, and he said, “Cheryl Kingsley?” He seemed elated to see me as he ran around the long row of irregular pants in my direction. As he got closer, my first inclination was to shake his hand, but it was too late. I was already in his embrace, enjoying his cologne, which lingered in my senses and then disappeared like morning dew. As he released the physical hold on me, he looked in my eyes, and said, “So how have you been doing?”

“I'm doing fine, thank you. I hardly recognized you without the Bob Marley look.”

“The Bob Marley . . . Oh, that's right. I had the dreads last time you saw me. Jeez, that's been at least seven or
eight years, I guess, huh? I cut them off a while back. I'm with the Sheriff's Department now.”

“Really? So you did go into law enforcement after all. Congratulations.”

“Yes, ma'am. Thanks. How have you been? How's little Sarah?”

“She's in college now. Playing basketball for Tennessee State, believe it or not.”

“Whoa. Good for her. I always knew she had it in her.”

As we talked, he told me about his change of plans regarding going into the army as well as his intentions to move back to Atlanta to be closer to his family. The more he spoke, the more I thought of the possibilities. I hated to think that way because I knew a young man like him would see nothing in me, but every now and then I'd catch myself giggling when I had no reason to or getting just a little too touchy-feely when he would make an interesting point. But I loved grabbing his forearm and saying, “Really?” and “Are you serious?” His biceps were as large around as my thigh, and his hands were powerful, although they were as soft as if he'd never done a decent day's work in his life. As he told me of his promotion in the Sheriff's Department, I found myself looking at his lips. They were full, and masculine, and the top one was just a shade darker than the bottom. The more he talked with that sophisticated, slow sexy voice, the more I found myself wanting to . . .

“Don't you agree?” was all I heard him ask.

“Well, umm, yeah. I mean, of course.” I wanted to change my panties and if I were Catholic, I would have had to say so many “hail-Mary-full-of-graces,” I would have cramped my tongue.

I noticed him glance at his watch, then he looked at me, and said, “I had no idea it was this late. Tell me something.”

I stared wordlessly with my lips slightly apart, ready to say yes. There was no way he was going to ask me . . .

“What's the best way to get to Key Biscayne from here? I don't want to run into traffic.”

What was I thinking? As I gave him directions, he took out a pen and wrote them on a slip of paper he had in his
pocket as a couple of women his age walked by, no doubt jealous, thinking he was giving me his number.

“Cool,” he said. “This way I can avoid 1-95.”

“Yeah,” I said as he put the piece of paper in his front pants pocket and even that looked seductive. My nipples itched and I wanted to squeeze my thighs a little tighter as he said, “Well, Mrs. Kingsley, you were
definitely
a sight for sore eyes.”

“Same here.”

“Are you done shopping?”

“No, I mean, yes.”

“Me too. I thought they'd have a few more bargains today, but I guess we got here just in time for the leftover junk. Where're you parked?”

We walked to my car and I found myself once again giddy with excitement. But here I was, a few weeks shy of the big one, and I was acting like a child. I knew he was around twenty-seven or twenty-eight and I knew what he would want an almost forty-year-old woman for. But as we got to my car and he said good-bye, I felt even older than my birth certificate.

Sitting in the driver's seat, I slid in a Maze CD and put on my sunglasses as I buckled my seat belt to “Joy and Pain” and I tried to forget how I'd just acted. I wanted to forget about the fact that the last time I'd had a real date, Reagan was president. I knew my next birthday would be a tough one, but I didn't think I'd be ready for a blue special parking decal.
Check you out
, I thought as I looked in the mirror.
Acting like that over that li'l boy. You ought to be ashamed of yourself
And then I was able to laugh at the situation. In hindsight, it felt good to feel attractive again, if only at a swap meet. I put the car in reverse and my hand on the passenger-side headrest to back out, when I was startled by a knock on my window. It was him.

“Sorry to bother you, Cheryl. This might sound strange,” he said, and then put those husky, thick brown forearms on my car windowsill and squatted. “But I was sorta wondering if you were still in the phone book.”

“Yessss,” I purred, sorta like a kitten curling around one's leg.

“Cool.” Looking down, he said, “Well, if it's all right, would you like to maybe”—then his eyes met mine—“go to dinner sometime?”

“Yes!” is what I screamed inside my body so loud I hoped he'd not heard the sound coming through my pores. “I dunno,” is what my lips replied. “Give me a call sometime and we'll play it by ear.”

Sarah excelled at three sports. Basketball, the discus, and volleyball. She accepted a hoops scholarship but dropped out because she said she just got tired of competing. I learned later she'd flunked out of school and was living off campus with a guy named Austin.

When she brought him to meet me for the very first time I was talking to Brandon on the phone. By this time we'd gone out for several months and Brandon had just asked me if I would like to drive up to Atlanta with him for the Labor Day weekend. Just as I was parting my lips to say yes, Sarah walked in the door with Austin.

“Brandon, that sounds like a good idea, but can I call you back? Something just came up.” As I hung up the phone and looked at the
something
named Austin, I wanted to like him, but I couldn't. He walked into my house as if I owed him money. Looking down at the sofa, he wrinkled his nose up as if he were too good to sit on it and then sat on its arm.

He wore jeans that were pulled down to midthigh, silver on his upper and lower teeth, and a tight white tank top. He had a toothpick in his mouth that stayed in place even when he spoke, and he had what my daughter would describe as a zero. I just called it a bald head. As he sat, he kept massaging the inside of his forearm for some reason as I visually inspected the rubbed area for needle tracks. And on the outside of his arm was a tattoo of something that extended from his shoulder to his elbow; I had no idea what the drawing was. He may have called it art. I called it the aftermath of a flesh-eating bacterium.