A Scandalous Affair. Donna Hill
She shook her head briskly, the sleek, blunt-cut hairstyle rippling past her cheeks. “Thought I forgot something,” she lied smoothly and wished she hadn’t. Instead, she wished she could tell Sam about the butterflies that were rampaging around in her stomach, or the hot and cold flashes that had taken over her body. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. In all this time, she’d never said a word to anyone about that night. Not a word. It was all she had left of him after his plane soared away—her dream and her fantasy—and she hadn’t wanted to share it with anyone, not even with her sister.
So, here she was, locked in place in front of her parents’ house, her heart racing, her palms sweating, and the best explanation she could come up with was she thought she forgot something.
Simone put on her best smile, slipped her arm through her sister’s and crossed the threshold. Hey, this was the millennium. No promises. No strings.
Justin rose from his relaxed position on the couch when Simone and Samantha entered the living room.
“There you two are.”
Simone’s eyes quickly took in the very classy decor of her parents’ home, with its gleaming hardwood floors, stylish high-arching ceilings, working fireplace and perfect combination of carefully selected antique furniture. Chad was nowhere among the splendor.
“Hi, Dad.” Samantha kissed his cheek and went straight to the bar, mixed herself a short screwdriver and took a quick sip before Simone left Justin’s embrace.
“Where is our guest of honor?” Simone dared ask.
“In the spare room, changing. He should be out in a minute.”
Samantha sauntered over with her drink and took a seat on the paisley-patterned chaise lounge. “Ahhh, that feels good,” she sighed, stretching out her long legs. She shut her eyes. “Any more heat from the other night, Dad?” she asked, referring to possible fallout from the protest.
“You need to talk to your mother about that. Her office was bombarded with calls all day.”
Simone and Samantha groaned in harmony. Hearing their father blast them out was one thing, but their mother was a different story. She was merciless. When angry, she was not one to pull her punches.
“You two should groan,” Vaughn said, whisking into the room with the same vitality that captivated her constituents. Gone was the woman who was bone-tired and deeply worried about her daughters. In her place was a charming, charismatic hostess who looked poised, relaxed and revived, as if she’d just gotten up from a nap.
Vaughn crossed the room, greeting each daughter with a warm kiss and a hug. “But we’ll put all of that aside for the time being and just enjoy the evening. Dottie fixed a great meal and my goal tonight is to relax with my family.”
“Sounds good to me,” Samantha said with relief.
“I’m going to see if Dottie wants me to bring anything out,” Simone offered, pushing herself up from the couch.
Justin turned on the stereo and the sweet serenade of Sarah Vaughan singing “My Man” followed her down the foyer to the kitchen.
When she entered, everything seemed to stand still. He had his back turned to her, unaware of her presence as he was wrapped in animated conversation with Dottie.
“You sure ’ave been missed,” Dottie was saying in her lilting Jamaican accent.
Chad laughed lightly. “It feels good to be back, Dottie, it really does,” he uttered in earnest. He clapped his palms on the countertop and pushed up from the stool. “I guess I’d better join my welcome-home party.”
“Good to see ya, dahlin’,” she said, patting his cheek in her customary motherly fashion. “Ahhh, Simone, come take this tray to the folks,” she said, noticing her standing in the archway.
Chad slowly turned toward her and his easy, inviting smile spread across his full mouth—one that Simone would never forget. His lids, fanned by curling lashes, rose, revealing the stomach-tumbling sparkle in his eyes.
Simone’s breath rushed from her lungs, then caught and held in her throat before releasing in a nervous giggle.
Chad walked toward her, arms outstretched as he gathered her close to his body in a tight, welcoming embrace.
For an instant, Simone pressed her head against his chest, shut her eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart. She could have stood there forever, inhaling the scent of him, comforted by the strength of him, but of course that was a silly daydream of a one-time fantasy.
Simone stepped back, praying that her smile wasn’t as shaky as she felt. She blew out a breath. “Well, look at you. Traveling suits you.”
He bowed modestly. “Thank you, ma’am. You look great yourself.”
An awkward moment of silence floated between them as they each took an instant to revisit the past. They stood there stiffly, quietly trying to force down the uneasy surge of memories.
“I, uh, guess we can catch up later. I’d better get this food out there to the starving masses,” Simone quipped, needing something to fill the blank space between them.
Chad nodded and stepped aside. “We definitely will,” he said quietly as he watched her take the tray from Dottie and hurry back out front.
She looked good, Chad thought as he took his time entering the front room. He wondered how often, if ever, she thought about that night between them. He did. Often. It was one thing that kept him grounded as he traveled from one country to the next, sleeping in countless hotels and hamlets he’d sooner forget.
Why hadn’t they stayed in touch during the past four years? he wondered. Many times he’d considered writing to her, just to let her know she was in his thoughts. But he hadn’t and neither had she. And as the days turned to months and then years, the reasons for doing so grew dim. After all, he reasoned over and over again, they’d made no promises, had no commitments to each other. And from her reaction at seeing him again, perhaps it was just as well.
He put on his game face and joined the party.
Chapter 5
Dinner was a robust affair with flowing conversation, laughter and numerous trips down memory lane, and enough food to feed an army. Stuffed with good will and a solid meal, they collapsed into respective spots of comfort in the living room. Soft music flowed from the high-tech stereo system, adding another layer of relaxation onto the group.
Vaughn half sat, half reclined in Justin’s arms, her lids growing heavy with each passing moment, even as Justin and Chad carried on an invigorating conversation about new evidence that could totally exonerate the defamed O. J. Simpson.
“From what I’ve heard, there was suppressed evidence of a phone conversation between Nicole and her mother after the time she was supposed to be dead,” Justin stated.
“You know as well as I do that they’ll never let that brother rest in peace,” Chad responded. “It’s bad enough that they couldn’t convict him of murder. Folks are still ticked off about that.”
“You’re right about that,” Samantha chimed in. “But imagine if it could be proved he was on a plane to Chicago and she was still alive chatting with her mother? The fallout from that would be worth the price of admission and then some.”
Everyone nodded and mumbled in agreement.
“Believe me, if there really was evidence to clear him, they’d bury it until the man was six feet under.”
“The restitution, not to mention the total loss of political credibility, isn’t something they’d risk.”
“But how often have we seen this happen?” Samantha asked, her dark eyes polling the occupants of the room. “It’s going on right now, even as we speak. The black man is always assumed guilty until proven innocent. If they’re not killed first.”
Chad