Marcia King-Gamble - Meet Phoenix

And chica wasn’t going to work. Not this time. Using my free hand, I poured water from my water bottle on some tissues and tossed them to him.

Damon held the wad against his bruised temple. “Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

It was all he was getting. And, yes, I was sorry I’d hurt him. But he’d hurt me badly, too. It had taken me forever to recover from Damon’s betrayal.

But I’d filed that painful experience under “Lessons Learned,” and cautioned myself never to give my heart to a man who thought that women weren’t equal.

And I had learned some things from the experience: independence and resilience. How many African-American twenty-eight-year-old females could say they owned their own business? How many twenty-eight-year-olds owned anything at all?

Damon took another step toward me.

I stepped back.

He advanced.

“I’m not going to get on my knees and plead for forgiveness, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I jabbered, feeling like a cornered rat. This was my office. My studio. I was still in control.

“Then make it up to me in another way,” Damon said, his voice deceptively low. “Take me to Tibet with you.”

“When hell freezes over.”

“Oh, Phe,” Damon said, shaking his head and pressing his advantage. One hand still held the wad of tissues against his temple. “Admit you need me.”

A morsel of guilt finally kicked in and with it my normal compassion. “Maybe you should have that…uh…injury looked at by a doctor. I’ll pick up the tab, of course.”

“It’ll heal.”

He balled up the tissues and tossed it at me. I deftly caught it. For a brief moment I considered stuffing it down his arrogant throat. But I’d done enough damage for one day.

He reached around me and picked up the newspaper, reading out loud.

“‘Maitreya, “Future Buddha,” one of a priceless trio, found on the grounds of a deserted Tibetan monastery.’ Now that’s intriguing stuff.”

He took his time reading the article while I seethed. After he was through, he uncapped a pen and scribbled some words down on a card before thrusting it at me.

“By the way, Maitreya’s supposed to be yellow. That statue has a greenish tinge to it. Here’s my home and cell numbers. You’ll need my help.”

We were on the same wavelength, always had been. The idol did look more green than yellow, but I’d be damned if I’d agree with him out loud.

Tucking my newspaper under his arm, Damon flashed me a grin and wiggled his fingers.

“I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Phe. Don’t keep me hanging, I’m a pretty busy boy.”

He backed out of the room, taking the paper with him. My paper.

Damon would be waiting a damn long time for my call. I certainly didn’t want him involved in any project I was associated with.

Yet seeing him after all these years made me realize a few things. It made me grateful and proud that I’d had the courage to end the relationship. If I hadn’t walked I wouldn’t be where I was today.

Time to get focused and make some phone calls. I needed an X-ray infrared specialist and I needed one soon. I got out my BlackBerry, scrolled through the list of names and found Lyle Greenspan’s, Felicia Michaels’s and Earl Kincaid’s. I quickly scribbled down their numbers.

Fifteen minutes later I conceded Damon was right. All three were busy and unable to make it.

What choice was I left with?

Taking a deep breath, I picked up the phone again. As I punched in the numbers, I thought about my throwing arm. Damon’s temple was probably really swollen now, and most likely hurt like hell. Good; let him suffer for once.

Damon’s voice mail kicked in and I left a message.

Less than five minutes later he called me back.

“What’s up, Phe?”

“Where are you, Damon?”

“Heading home?”

“Do you have a visa?” I almost choked on my words. I pictured him grinning.

“Why do I need a visa?”

“Stop playing games.”

He’d known all along that I would get back to him. Not only was he eminently qualified, I’d found out during my conversation with Lyle that Damon had converted to Buddhism, Tibet’s most popular religion. That, to my mind, was an added advantage. He would at least be familiar with the culture and he wasn’t expecting an exorbitant salary.

“You there, Phe? Did you say you want me to go to Tibet with you?”

“Yes. I need your services.”

“Cool. Sounds like the perfect assignment for someone like me, a follower of the Dalai Lama.”

“Last I knew you were Roman Catholic. Your mother must have had a cow when you converted to Buddhism.”

“My mother died. It hasn’t been the best of times lately. Buddhism was my salvation, especially after you left me.” He chuckled.

Left him? More like the other way around. Damon had made it difficult for me to stay with him, especially if I wanted to remain my own woman. He’d let his machismo get in the way—of everything. But I was sorry to hear of his mother’s death. She and I had gotten along well. She had enjoyed regaling me with stories of growing up in the Dominican Republic. And I’d enjoyed every last one of them.

“I’m so sorry about your mom, Damon.” I quickly changed the topic. “You and I may very well be on the same wavelength when it comes to Maitreya. I’m thinking this discovery may be a hoax.”

“So we go and find out. Why turn down a trip to a country I’ve been dying to see? You did say all expenses are paid?”

I had not. But I guess he knew that pretty much came with the territory.

Damon continued. “Do you know what finding Maitreya means to the Buddhist world? It means the awaited teacher is coming. He is the master of wisdom, and a guide for people of every religion. Maitreya is supposed to be reborn during a period of decline. He represents our future.” He sounded really excited.

I wasn’t particularly religious, but the idol’s discovery couldn’t have been timelier. Natural disasters happened almost daily now and terrorism, well, that was something we lived with. The world needed a savior.

While doing my research, I’d read some of the more “out there” papers. There had been signs of Maitreya’s imminent arrival for some time now.

Damon’s interest in this project most likely had to do with him wanting to identify the statue as a hoax. And if by some amazing turn of events it was not, then he wanted to be the one to return it to the Dalai Lama.

“We’re leaving in two days,” I said. “Can you be ready?”

“That’s sudden. Has something happened?”

“No. I just wanted to get a jump on things. The sooner the better.”

“I can’t commit this soon,” he said. “I’m in the middle of another project.” He was going to keep me dangling. Make me sweat a little.

I expressed myself loudly using a colorful expletive then decided it was pointless letting him needle me. “Make yourself available,” I said. “It’ll be worth your while.”

“Tsk. Such unladylike behavior. How can anyone work with you?”

I repeated the invective. “Do you want the job or not?”

He wanted it. He’d already admitted it was a dream come true.

“Only if the money is right.”

I let the silence drag on then countered with a salary that was way too low.

“No way. Up it another thirty percent and there’s room for discussion. I gotta go.”

“Don’t you hang up on me!”

Several beats went by.

“You still there?” he asked.

“I’m here,” I said grumpily. “I’ll split my bonus. But that means the project has to come in on time or I’ll be all over you.”

“Now you’re talking.”