Gwynne Forster - Sealed With a Kiss

Rufus steered into his garage and forced himself to get out of his car. He walked around the garden in back of the house, sat on a stone bench, absently turned the hose on, and filled the birdbath. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? It had taken every ounce of will he could gather to stop what he’d started down by the Tidal Basin. He couldn’t pinpoint what had triggered it, and he wondered how he managed to appear so calm afterward when he actually felt as if he would explode. And why had he felt obligated to ease her mind about Angela? He’d never even kissed her, thought he’d just come pretty close to it. Besides, he and Naomi spent most of their time together fighting. He had been discussing a three-book deal with Angela when Naomi had passed their table; one look at her face, and he knew she’d seen them. He had immediately terminated the discussion and followed her. Get a grip on it, son! He noticed two squirrels frolicking in the barbecue pit, walked over to the patio, and got some of the peanuts that he stored there for his little friends. He went to the pit, got down on his haunches, and waited until they saw him and raced over to take their food from his hand.

Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Nothing could come of it. The question plagued him. And another thing. Good Lord! She was jealous of Angela. Jealous! How the devil was he going to stay away from her if she reciprocated what he felt? They didn’t even like each other. Scratch that, he amended; only fools lied to themselves. He went up to his room, changed his clothes, and went to get his boys from Jewel’s house.

Naomi sat at her drawing board that afternoon and wondered whether she could do a full day’s work in two hours. She was way off schedule, and she didn’t have one useful idea. “Oh, hang Rufus,” she called out in frustration. “Why am I bothered, anyway? Why, for heaven’s sake, am I torturing myself?” She dialed Marva, who answered on the first ring. Naomi always found it disconcerting that Marva’s telephone rarely rang a second or third time. She would almost believe her friend just sat beside the phone waiting for a call, but Marva was too impatient.

“Are you going to One Last Chance this afternoon?” she asked her. “I think we ought to firm up the plans for our contributions to the Urban Alliance gala. If we don’t get a bigger share of the pot this time, OLC will be in financial difficulty.”

“I know,” Marva breathed, sounding bored, “but it’ll all work out. You ought to be concentrating on who’s going to take you and what you’re going to wear.” Suddenly, Marva seemed more serious than usual. “Someday, Naomi, you’re going to tell me why a twenty-nine-year-old woman who looks like you would swear off men. Honey, I couldn’t understand that even if you were eighty. Don’t you ever want somebody to hold you? I mean really hold you?”

Caught off guard, Naomi clutched the telephone cord and answered candidly. “To tell the truth, I do. Terribly, sometimes, but I’ve been that route once, and once is enough for me.” Well, it was a half-truth, but she knew she owed her friend a reasonable answer, and she would never breathe the whole truth to anyone.

She changed the subject. “Guess what happened while you were gone, Marva.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, Le Ciel Perfumes saw the ad I did for Fragrant Soaps and gave me an exclusive five-year contract. I get all their business. Girl, I’m in the big time now. Can you believe it? I talked to them as if I could barely fit them into my tight program. Then I hung up, screamed, and danced a jig.”

“You actually screamed? Wish I’d been there.”

“But, Marva, that’s what every commercial artist dreams of, a sponsor. I treated myself to a new music system. My feet have hardly touched the ground since I signed that contract.”

“Go, girl. I knew you had it in you. We’ll get together for some Moët and Chandon; just name the hour.”

On an impulse and as casually as she could, she asked Marva, “You know so many people in this town, do you happen to know Rufus Meade?”

“Cat Meade? Is there anybody in the District of Columbia who doesn’t know him or know about him?”

“I didn’t know him until recently, and I didn’t realize you read books on crime and delinquency, Marva,” she needled gently.

“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.