Donna Hill - Legacy of Love

She drew in a long calming breath. The opening of the exhibit unveiling the statues was in two weeks. She had plenty to do and no time to dwell on—well, whatever it was that was happening to her. Tonight she was determined to get some well-deserved rest and be prepared and clear-headed for the big event.

Zoe scoured through piles of research materials making notes on new finds and reading the latest news on African American museum collections across the country. She made some phone calls, and sent off a few emails. When she looked up at the clock above her door, she was stunned to see that it was past noontime. She pushed away from her desk, closed her eyes and stretched her arms high above her head. A whiff of a strongly male scent wafted toward her nose. Her eyes flew open, so sure she would find a man standing in her office. But she was completely alone.

Her gaze darted around the room, stopping in every corner. She gave a short shake of her head. Food, she needed food. She was operating on very little sleep and an empty stomach. She pulled open her bottom desk drawer and took out her purse.

Taking her suit jacket from the back of her chair she walked out of her office in search of food. Maybe she’d take a stroll over to her friend Sharlene’s office and see if she was free for lunch.

“I’m going out for a while,” she said to Mike, who was putting brochures out at the information desk. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“Enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

Zoe stepped out into the balmy spring afternoon. The sky was clear, and there was a crispness in the air. As usual, the streets of Atlanta were dotted with tourists and lunch-goers. She loved the city even as she missed her home and family in Louisiana.

Her mother, Mariya, had begged her to come home for a visit and she’d been putting it off with all that she had to do at work. But the urge to see her family was growing stronger every day. Maybe she could take a quick trip home for a weekend as soon as the exhibit opened, she thought as she turned down Peachtree Street in the direction of Sharlene’s office. Mike could handle things in her absence.

She stopped in front of Moore Designs and opened the glass front door. The reception area of Moore Designs looked like a page from an interior design magazine. The walls were painted in bold colors, which complemented the sleek modern furnishings. Low couches and chairs provided a comfortable seating arrangement, set off by rugs that covered the hardwood floors. Eclectic wall art covered every inch of the space behind the reception desk.

For two years Sharlene had been the host of Moore Designs on HGTV. Although it gave her a high profile and droves of clients, the time she spent away from her design studio and from friends and family was more than she’d wanted to.

“Hi, Cynthia,” Zoe said, greeting the front desk receptionist.

“Hi, how are you?”

“I’m good.”

“How’s everything coming with the opening?”

“Right on schedule. The statues arrived this morning, actually.”

“They’re getting a lot of buzz in the art world. Congrats on acquiring them.”

“Thanks. It was definitely a team effort. Is Sharlene around?”

“Sharl is in her office. Go on back.”

“Thanks.”

Zoe walked down the hallway with its cool white walls, and turned a corner to Sharlene’s office. Her door was open.

“Hey, girl,” she said, poking her head in.

Sharlene looked up from examining a batch of fabrics. Her sandy brown eyes lit up in her golden butter-tone face. She took off her glasses and set them on the desktop. “Hey. This is a surprise. I thought you’d have your hands full with the shipment today.”

Zoe walked inside the office, which was definitely a reflection of Sharlene’s personality and taste. The office was filled with design ideas that included vibrant fabric swatches, see-through drawers filled with marble, granite and wood samples, easels for her drawings, a drafting table, decorating accessories, colored pencils and paints. Zoe lifted a stack of magazines from a club chair and plopped down, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“You look like you could use a vacation,” Sharlene said, noticing the sluggishness reflected in Zoe’s tired-looking eyes. “Still not sleeping?”

Zoe shook her head and covered her mouth as she yawned. “I wish what I was doing was sleeping, but the dreams…”

Sharlene leaned back in her Herman Miller chair. “Still the same?”

“Yes, only more intense.” Without warning her nipples hardened and the tiny bud between her thighs began to throb as images of the man who came to her in her dreams, the faceless man who made passionate love to her emerged in her mind. Her nostrils flared as her pulse quickened. She hadn’t told Sharlene everything, not the parts about the faceless seducer who left her trembling with longing.

“Are you all right? You look flushed.”

Zoe quickly shook her head. “Fine. Just tired.”

Even Sharlene, who was as open-minded as they came, would think she was losing it if Zoe told her what had been going on at night. “And hungry.” She forced a grin. “Can you get away for a bit?”

“Sure. My eyes were starting to cross looking at all these fabrics.” She stood and took her purse from the shelf behind her desk. “Want to head over to Gladys Knight’s place?”

“I was thinking the same thing. We should be able to get a table. It’s still early.”

The two friends walked out together staying on Peachtree Street to the restaurant three blocks away. The locale was famous not only because of its owner but for its mouth-watering menu, specifically the chicken and waffles, the house specialty. After a short wait, they were seated in a booth by the window and their orders were taken.

“You look like you could use a drink to go with that vacation,” Sharlene commented, once the waitress was gone. “Is something else bothering you?” She gazed steadily at Zoe.

Zoe lowered her eyes then finally focused on Sharlene. “This is going to sound totally crazy.”

“Maybe, but tell me anyway.”

Zoe leaned back, stretched her arms out in front of her and cupped her water glass. “The dreams are more than…just dreams.”

Sharlene’s perfectly arched brows rose. “Okay, so what are they?”

“They’re physical.”

“Physical?”

“Yeah.” She leaned closer. “He comes to me in my sleep,” she said under her breath.

“What?” Sharlene said in confusion.

“The image of a man… He comes to me in my sleep, and…he makes love to me.” She swallowed and realized how ridiculous it sounded.

Sharlene was quiet for a moment. “You dream about being made love to?”

“Yes.”

“By a stranger?”

“Yes, but it’s as if I know him.” Her voice was beginning to take on a desperate edge. “But I can’t see him. Not really.” She shook her head. “Forget it. It doesn’t make sense.” She took a sip of her water.

“Zoe, remember what Nana Zora said,” Sharlene reminded her gently.

Zoe’s eyes jumped, as she stared at Sharlene, whose earnest expression seemed to invite a response. Sharlene was as much a family member as any blood relation, and had been privy to Zoe’s Nana, her mother and aunts’ tale of the Beaumont women’s curse. Unlike Zoe, Sharlene was fascinated by it all, and wished that her own family history was as exotic and exciting.

“Well, come on. Your thirtieth birthday is in three months. Nana said—”

“Don’t! Don’t start. Okay.” She rolled her eyes and looked away.

Sharlene leaned across the table. “What if it’s true?” she said in a low whisper. “Wouldn’t that be too fabulous and romantic?”

The waitress appeared with their lunch. When Zoe glanced up to thank her, she caught a glimpse in the corner of her eye of the broad back of a man who was walking out the front door. Blood rushed to her temples. She jumped, knocking over the glass of water on the table. In the moments of confusion and apologies, Zoe lost sight of him.