Cornbread & Caviar (5 page)

The night finally arrives for my big date, and I want to look good. I go to Mama's apartment and ramble through her things. After a short while, I pull out an old dress that once looked great on Mama. Since we were about the same size, it seems appropriate. Though out of season, a soft airy handkerchief dress with an irregular neckline is perfect for my date. The slightest breeze makes the dress take flight. A wrap will be necessary as the nights are getting chilly.

Mama is antsy and needs to get high, but she's still happy for me. She feels Hilton sent the money, and she's probably right.
When the white limo drives up to the projects, residents run outside like their apartments are on fire. It makes a right turn and pulls beneath my apartment's window. Hilton waits in the limo while his driver comes to my apartment door. While looking out my window, I just can't believe my eyes. The beautiful car seems to stretch from one end of my building to the other.
Big mouth Merna sits on the top step watching her six kids and smoking a cigarette. When she sees me dressed and coming from my apartment, she sends one of her kids to get loose lips Lendy. Before I know it, people are standing about, gawking and pointing. Some even take pictures with their cell phone.
The dress takes flight as I walk down the stairs. I wave to everyone, but hurry along. Like a terrible funeral, this viewing needs to end. Click, the driver, holds the door open while I rush inside. The minute my tail hits the seat, I feel different, out of place and strange. Something magical is in the air, and I know it.
Cameo's is not far from my apartment, but when Hilton drives right past, an alarm goes off in my head. I know Dutton is a small town, so there is absolutely no other place to go.
As Cameo's disappears in the distance, I turn my head in response. "Where are we going?" I point toward the rear window. "Cameo's is back there."
Hilton grins awkwardly. "We're going to the airport."
"But . . . but . . . ." My heart races. I look behind at the restaurant getting farther from my field of vision.
Hilton places his hand atop mine and pats. "We're going to take my private jet to New York."
"New York," I scream, almost leaping from my seat. "I can't go to New York!" Nervously, I dart my gaze to and fro, trying to make sense of his statement.
Hilton seems amused by my distress. "And why is that?"
"Number one, I can't leave Tory with Mama that long. She isn't dependable."
"And number two." He holds up two fingers.
"Number two, I must be at work early in the morning."
Hilton pushes a button. The window that divides the passenger and driver compartments slowly descends. "Click, take care of Randi's family and call Casey's Bar & Grill. Tell him Randi won't be there in the morning."
I narrow my eyes. "You can't do that!"
Hilton is entertained by my behavior. "Why can't I? Relax. I want you to have a wonderful evening."
Within minutes, Click has Mama on the speakerphone.
"Mama, I'm going to New York with Hilton," I call wryly.
"That's fine, baby. The nanny is already here to take us to the Maxwell's mansion for the weekend."
"What! Mama, please—Please, be good, okay. Please. Remember our deal." I gaze at Hilton, wanting to get angry with him. "What are you trying to do by taking my family away like that? You can't buy me. I'm not for sale."
"That's exactly why you're here. I know you aren't for sale."
"What?" I frown suspiciously. "How did you know?"
"I was there, I saw the men insult you off the stage. I felt sorry for you, but hail you a shero."
"A shero?" Wringing my hands, I bob my head sarcastically. "After that performance?"
Hilton purses his lips. "Yes, and I applaud you." He claps his hands softly. "Excellent job."
Withdrawing from the conversation, I push my body deep into the lush comforts of the seat. My eyes narrow sharply. "You sent the money, didn't you?"
Hilton pulls down his glasses. "Guilty as charged." He throws up his hands as if being robbed. "I overheard your cell phone conversation."
Dropping my gaze toward the carpeted floor, I manage, "Thank you."
"The room you hid in is my office. Had you looked around, you would have seen me sitting behind my desk. I heard every word you said."
I place both hands to my hot cheeks. "I'm so ashamed," I say, averting my eyes.
Turning my face toward his, Hilton coaxes me. "Don't be embarrassed. I want to be your friend."
"You do?" Feeling as if I’ve had a peek into his soul, I brighten with disbelief. But, something doesn't sound right. Why is this young black woman from Dutton suddenly so important in his life?
"Yes, and I have some very important information."
Gazing out the tinted window, I sit back in the thickly padded seat and try to relax. Hilton has everything under control; it's his ball game now.

When the jet lands, we bustle through the busy airport. I rush along, my mother's dress waving daringly around my body as people fly about in a frenzy. Holding my skirt at bay, I feel like the country mouse in the big city. I have never been inside an airport in my life.

Once we're downtown, the modern architecture of the hotel is breathtaking. Lifting my virgin eyes, I marvel at the grand structure where we'd be staying. I had no luggage and Hilton didn't bother to check in.

However, there is a small boutique in the hotel and my eyes grow large with wonder. Stylish clothes are placed strategically in the window. The sight is graceful and elegant. Headless mannequins wear the latest in fashion apparel. I cringe under their ability to mock my substandard clothing. "Wow, those clothes are awesome, Hilton."

Hilton envelopes my arm in his. "I'm glad you noticed. That's our first stop." Hilton takes me inside and purchases five outfits for me. The quality of the fabrics are such as I've never seen. I feel like I'm dreaming. Hilton replaces my tattered old bra and panties with new ones. Next, my shoes are replaced with stylish Italian heels, unrivaled in beauty. My God, I have never known such joy.
Clothing needed for a week's stay is purchased at the boutique. Even so, I have no idea how long I will be staying.
While we check out, Hilton has the old dress I'm wearing wrapped in a beautiful box. "Why do we need to wrap this old thing, Hilton?"
He catches my hands in his and looks into my eyes. "I want you to always remember where you came from."
Frowning curiously, I ask, "What are you saying?"
His voice is soft, deep, and deadly serious. "I'm saying that, one day, that dress will be a very important part of your life."
"But Hilton." I bite my bottom lip and glimpse the lines of his hard profile. "I'm confused; we have no commitment to each other."
"Yes, I know." He pats my hand with his.
A beautiful Caucasian woman dressed in a business suit prances between us. "Excuse me," she says, preening her long, flowing, blonde hair. Hilton's eyes eagerly follow her shapely form. Her golden tan is embellished by her black suit. Hilton pulls down his glasses; his eyes trail her into the lobby then out the revolving door.
For some reason, jealousy overshadow my judgment. Placing my hand on the side of his face, I pull his attention forward. "She's gone now."
Hilton seems surprised that I would challenge his bachelor's right. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I knew her. Seems as if we met in a meeting or something."
Placing my new designer's clutch on the counter, I demand, "Let's not play games, and please be honest, Hilton. What do you really want with me? I'm a black, uneducated hick from Dutton. I have nothing going for me. So, honestly, what do you want with me?" I throw up my hands in surrender. "Am I just a new toy for you to play with? Do you want to make fun of me?"
Hilton grabs me in his arms, his eyes dance with desperation. "Randi, Randi, I have no words to explain it—just shut up!" Then he kisses me hard on the mouth.
I close my eyes slowly, then revel in moments of utter bliss. Gathering my wits, I finally break free, my mouth agape.
"When we have dinner, I'll tell you all about it. Right now, let's get out of here." He grabs me by the shoulder and ushers me toward the lobby.
Click follows and carries most of the cumbersome packages.

When we get to the room, its beauty is unimaginable. The water in a sunken tub is hot, ready, and filled with bubbles. Hilton points toward the tub and nods. I don't hesitate to disrobe and jump into the inviting bath. Warm water covers me, perfumed bubbles swath my breasts in luxury.

With the bathroom's door ajar, I can see that Hilton is removing his jacket and tie. He places them neatly on the bed, and I grow nervous. "What are you doing?" I call anxiously.

"Getting comfortable." He removes his shoes and sits on the edge of the kingsized bed.
"We can't have sex," I say, projecting my voice from the bathroom. "I don't know anything about you."
Hilton walks to the bathroom door and stands in the doorway. His ice blue eyes appear displeased; his mouth takes on an unpleasant frown. "Did I ask you for sex?"
"No," I admit, squeezing a washcloth. "But . . . ."
"But, nothing." He shrugs. "My room is across the hallway," he says firmly. "This— is your room."
"It is?" I ask, moving toward the edge of the large sunken tub.
Without saying another word, Hilton turns, gathers his things, then closes the hotel door behind him. Notwithstanding his need to get angry, he’s a puzzling sort. One second he's loving, kind and considerate, then the next, he seems bitter and harsh.

After I get out of the tub, I drape myself in a thick bathrobe and meander around the room. I feel the fine fabric of the drapes. They're tinged an autumn gold. Looking on the ground below, I see antlike people bustle about, each one engulfed in their own world. New York is quite a busy place.

At eleven o'clock, there is a knock on the door. When I answer, —I find room service is bringing in a hefty meal. This development is very puzzling. I remove the metal top; there's only one meal. I'd hoped to be dining with Hilton.

Glancing absently at my door, I guess he's too angry to face me. Fried prawn, baked potatoes, salad and tea are on the rolling cart.
I sprawl my containers upon the carpet, get my fork, and eat like a king.
When I get in bed, I lie awake wondering about Hilton. He's a complicated man, and I wish I knew him better. Why did he get so angry when I mentioned sex, and why am I really in New York? There's no way to explain all these events to Mama.
Even though he's strange, Lenisha is right, Hilton is more than handsome. Touching my lips, I recall the passionate kiss he gave me in the boutique. Somehow, his taste still lingers on my lips. For the life of me, I can't understand what caused his odd behavior, and why are his arms so reassuring?
At 3:30 a.m., I fall asleep watching old movies. Five-thirty brings a tapping sound on the door. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I slide to the edge of the king sized bed and stand unsteadily to my feet. Someone has shoved a slip of paper beneath the door. I pick it up, then strain my eyes to read.
"Meet me in the dinning room for breakfast at nine."

A grin stretches across my face. Smiling graciously, I place the slip of paper to my breasts. Going back to sleep seems out of the question, as my excitement brims over. Hopefully, I can relax enough to remove the luggage beneath my eyes.

At exactly 8:50 a.m., I'm dressed in my new floral sundress, and I head for the elevators. When I reach the dining area, it's filled with people already engaged in breakfast activities. Hilton is waiting at a table with two cups of coffee and a small juice. He glimpses his watch, then sees me standing in the doorway.

A radiant smile beams from his lips, and he nods proudly. As if surrounded by a luminous glow, Hilton sits still while I prepare myself. My heart pounds wildly in my chest. His dark blue suit is smartly tailored; he looks simply divine.

Nausea makes my stomach quicken. I hold it firmly walking toward the vision as if in a trance. Hilton stands to acknowledge my presence as I approach the table. He helps with my chair then takes his own.

"You look stunning in that dress."
"Thank you." Absently, I preen my hair. "You have excellent taste." Pushing his chair up to the table, he adds, "I've taken the liberty of ordering

breakfast."
Gazing into his eyes, I feel scatty. "That's fine. I'm a country girl, and I work at
Casey's. I'll eat anything you've ordered."
Hilton laces his fingers. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"
"Yes, shall we?" I mimic, picking up my spoon and reaching for the sugar. "I was
so curious I could hardly sleep."
Hilton moistens his lips and inhales. "Where to start, where to start." He closes
his eyes, tilts his head upward, then exhales slowly. "First, your show with Satin was no
accident. I set that up."
I'm taking a sip of my coffee, but stop. "What?"
"Lenisha." He pauses.
"Lenisha?" I give him a sidelong glance. "You know Lenisha?"
"No, not really. Lenisha provided my associate with information about you. And
she, in turn, informed me. I've had my eye on you for quite some time." Massaging my temples, I close my eyes tightly. "What are you saying? I've never
seen you before in my life."
Flinching, Hilton lowers his voice. "No, you haven't, but—perhaps I should wait
for my attorney."
"Attorney. I don't understand." I hold my breath for a moment. "You can talk
without him." I plead. "I need to know what's going on, and I want to know now." Looking over his glasses, Hilton glares at me. "Randi. You'll find I'm pretty
honest. What I'm about to say might shock you a bit. Are you prepared?" "Hilton, you've brought me all the way to New York. What you have to say must
be pretty important." Sensing his need for procrastination, I pick up my cup once again.
"Out with it."
After taking a sip of his coffee, Hilton then blots his forehead with a napkin. If he
is getting nervous, perhaps I should locate the nearest exit.
"Randi, I need you to remain calm. You need to hear the entire story before you
say anything. Do you promise?"
Feeling sorry for the task that lay before Hilton, I nod. It's obvious something has
him greatly burdened.
Suddenly, he spits out the words. "My great grandfather had a shady past." Holding my cup to my lips, I encourage him to go on. "Yes, and?" "I don't know if you know this or not, but your great grandmother, Pearl
Richardson, worked for my great grandfather."
"Oh." The waiter interrupts our conversation to place our breakfast before us.
Hilton is right on target with his selection, but I'm too anxious to eat.
"Pearl was my grandfather's nanny."
I pick up my fork and my mouth drops. "O-kay," I croon sarcastically. "And
that's a bad thing, why?"
"Randi, my great grandfather was terribly in love with your great grandmother." As his words seep into my mind, my lips part, and my eyes narrow accusingly.
"What are you saying?" I almost knock over my juice.
"I'll give you a moment to digest that information before I tell you the rest." "There's more." I put out my hand to halt the madness. "Wait—we aren't related,
are we?"
Hilton's eyes meet the ceiling doubtfully. "Ah, no. There were no children born
during their relationship." Hilton pushes his plate slightly to the side and places his
elbows on the table. As if in prayer, he clasps his fingers together and laces them tightly.
"Anyway, when my great grandmother died, Pearl, the nanny, kinda took control of my
great grandfather's whims. Her picture hangs in my study."
I'm anxiously forking up my fruit, but stop. "But, that woman is gorgeous." Hilton brightens. "Yes, and you're the very image of her. Her portraits are all
over the mansion, along with my great grandmother's, of course."
"Really." I blot my lips. Mama never mentioned anything about this to me." "Well, to your relatives, Pearl was just working on a regular job. Your mother
probably didn't know about their affair."
"Wow," I reply quietly.
"When my dad's health started to fail, I took control of his affairs." He leans
forward and studies my eyes. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
I nod, trying my best to follow Hilton's rigid conversation. He takes a sip of his
coffee and rolls the cup uneasily between his large hands.
"When I took over the estate, I had my attorney examine
all
accounts. They
discovered a fund that had been set aside for your great grandmother. She passed away
without any knowledge of the account."
"Really!" Now Hilton is striking a nerve. I put down my fork and give him my
undivided attention.
"My father kept Pearl's account hidden. I'm positive he had no intensions of ever
exposing the truth." Hilton gazes fretfully at his neatly laced fingers. "Randi, right now,
a third of the Maxwell estate belongs to you, and your family."
Immediately, my breakfast starts to rise. "I feel sick." I shake my head to erase his
words. "Come again with that. I didn't hear you correctly?" I lean forward and study his
troubled expression.
"I wouldn't lie about a thing like that." Hilton casts his eyes toward the floor. "It's
much too important."
Electricity runs over my body and I sit numb on my chair. Vivid images pass
through my brain as I recall seeing the picture of my great grandmother and feeling
jealous. Hilton is right; his confession is a sensory overload. Suddenly, his voice
becomes an inaudible sound. With all my might, I try to pull my attention back to his
admission.
"And Pearl never heard the reading of the will," he says. "Money changed hands
to keep the information quiet."
I glare sternly into Hilton's troubled eyes. "What are you saying?" About this time, Hilton's attorney arrives and walks over to the table. He's a
young man with thinning hair but fairly good looking. Under his arm, he carries a thick,
manila folder. Standing over the table, he extends his hand. "My name is Timothy
Russell. I'm the Maxwells' attorney. What Mr. Maxwell is saying is correct. You and
your mother now own one third of the Maxell estate."
He gives my hand a firm shake. "Congratulations."
I hardly believe a word. "This is all a lie, right?"
The lawyer tosses the papers on the table and pulls out a chair. "I'm afraid not.
These are the original papers. It's in black and white, legal and iron clad. Samuel
Maxwell was of sound mind at the time."
He gives the papers to me as Hilton looks on. I read the papers through tears; the
document stated that my great grandmother, Pearl Richards, was to receive one-third of
the Maxwell's estate, upon the death of Samuel Maxwell.
I place the papers back in the folder, then shove them toward Mr. Russell. "This
is all too confusing." I push my breakfast away. "I need to go home—back to Dutton." I
stand up. "Please excuse me." Without saying another word, I leave.
Before I reach the door, I hear Hilton calling out to me. When I turn, he’s walking
toward me with palms extended.
Immediately, his attorney grasps his forearm and shakes his head. "Let her go,
Hilton. She needs time to process this information."