Fools Rush In. Gwynne Forster
volunteered since before her marriage and where she was known as Miss Taylor provided her second reference.
She styled her hair in a French twist, and in spite of the sweltering August heat, dressed carefully in a conservative beige silk suit and olive-green blouse, added brown accessories, debated the advisability of wearing lipstick, decided to apply it, and headed for her door. The phone rang and she almost didn’t answer it fearing that Duncan Banks was calling to cancel their appointment.
“Hello, Justine, this is Big Al. My sister is your real estate agent, and she tells me you’re changing your life, selling your house, and leaving Alexandria for DC. Can’t say I blame you, honey. How about doing that column I’ve been pestering you about?”
“Oh, Al. It’s great to hear from you. Just because I wrote a gossip column for The Hill Top when we were at Howard U doesn’t mean I can write a column for the lovelorn.”
“’Course you can, babe. You’ve got two degrees in psychology and plenty of horse sense. How about it?”
“How much of my time will that take?”
“Practically none. Three columns a week. For each one, you answer a minimum of three letters and write some family values stuff. You say the word, I’ll put the notice in tomorrow, and bingo. End of the week you’ll have dozens of letters. Just give me a P.O. box number.” She thought for a second. She needed time to consider the risks. “I like the idea right now. Who knows, I may someday be syndicated. Tell you tomorrow.”
“Two things. You’ll be Aunt Mariah, and you will not tell anybody—I mean not one soul on earth—that you write that column. We gotta have secrecy. Otherwise, it’ll be a total flop. Call me tomorrow before ten. See ya.”
Justine walked on liquid legs to her car, got behind the wheel, and slumped against it. She had to go through with it. No matter what conditions she found or what she faced, she had to do it. She had to be with her child. She had read Duncan Banks’s columns. Who hadn’t? But she’d never seen him. Please God, don’t let him be a slob, but the smiling, happy man she’d seen leaving the clinic that day carrying a newborn baby. Her shaking fingers stuck the key in the ignition, and she didn’t know how she did it, but she managed to release the brake. “Mind over matter,” she repeated aloud.
The drive along the Shirley Memorial Highway, over the Fourteenth Street Bridge, and on up Sixteenth Street didn’t soothe her nerves. Horns honked, drivers darted in and out of lanes breaking traffic rules, but she managed to keep her wits until she turned into Primrose Street at the edge of Maryland and stopped. Her nerves rioted throughout her body. She sat in the car until she could control the trembling that shot through her, making her skin crawl and her teeth chatter. In minutes she would see her child. She took a handkerchief from the glove compartment and dabbed at her tears.
Calmer now, she walked up the long, winding bricked walk to the modern white stone building whose enormous glass windows were more off-putting than welcoming. Trembling fingers rang the bell, and the jitters commenced again. Duncan Banks opened the door, and she stared at him, wondering if she’d lost her mind. He was the man, all right. The same tall, dark man. And what a man. Not that she cared, she’d finished with men. But even in her baffled state, she had the sense to recognize male perfection. And danger. As if his stature and facial features weren’t enough to sabotage a woman’s will, he opened his mouth and released a deep, sonorous, velvet timbre.
“Hi. You must be Justine Taylor. Come on in. I’m Duncan Banks.”
She found her voice and marveled at its even tenor. “Yes. I’m Justine. I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Banks.”
His smile had the effect of termites hard at work on the foundation of a shingled building. “I’m glad you agreed to come today. I’ve got an assignment that’ll take me away from home, and I have to be sure Tonya’s taken care of. Tell me about yourself.”
She told him as much as she wanted him to know, and she’d prepared herself for his misgivings. So when he commented that she seemed too polished to be working as a nanny, she countered that she was down on her luck and seeking to change her life.
He raised an eyebrow “What precisely do you mean?”
Don’t forget that he’s an investigative reporter, she reminded herself. “I plan to write, and this job will support me while I work at it. I know it may be years and years before I have any success,” she added, to allay his qualms about impermanence, “but this way, I needn’t worry about bills and a place to stay.”
She must have said the right thing, because he nodded and a smile surfaced around his mouth. She pulled her gaze from it as quickly as she could and asked some questions so he’d know she was a careful, responsible person.
“Where would I sleep?”
“The guest room faces Tonya’s room. You’d sleep there. It has a private bath and a small anteroom that you could use either for a dressing room or a little office. Did you bring your references?”
Electricity shot up her arm when his fingers brushed hers as he took the letters that she handed him. His gaze was that of a man who’d just had a surprise, one that he didn’t necessarily welcome. Well, it was time she got some of her own back. She’d been reacting to him ever since he’d opened that door. Where did he sleep? She wondered, but didn’t have the nerve to ask.
“Do you think I could see Tonya? Or is she asleep?”
His apparent pride in his daughter gave her a sinking feeling, even as it warmed her heart. He’d never give up that baby. Never. So she had better play her cards right.
“Come with me.” He raised his long frame from the big wing chair that had no place in a modern setting and headed down the hall. She looked away from Duncan for fear that the guilt curdling her stomach would blaze across her face, and she had her hands full, so to speak, controlling the wild anticipation that danced within her at the promise of seeing her child.
His leisurely smile only heightened her anticipation of the wonder awaiting her. “She’s wide awake, but she whispers to her bears so they don’t growl at her. I don’t know where in the devil she got that. Probably from Mattie.”
Her joy bordered on hysteria, and she didn’t think she could move another step, but she did. Icy marbles frolicked through her veins, and she had to bite her lips to control their quiver.
“Hi, Baby,” his deep voice began when Tonya looked up at him, threw the bear aside, and smiled. “You have company. This is Justine.” Tonya climbed to her feet with the bars on the crib for support and raised her little arms. Stunned disbelief spread over Duncan’s face. “She’s asking you to pick her up? Shy as she is with strangers? Can you beat that?”
If her life had depended upon it, Justine couldn’t have said where she got the strength to reach down and pull her child into her arms. “Juju,” Tonya said, pulling at Justine’s dangling gold earrings. Justine gazed into eyes identical to her own and, in spite of her efforts to retain her sanity and maintain a professional demeanor, she hugged the child to her bosom and kissed her cheek, all the while praying for composure.
“Juju,” Tonya repeated. Then, as if she’d had enough, she wiggled aside and raised her arms to Duncan. “Daddy. Daddy.”
He took the baby, held her with one arm and opened one of the references. Justine didn’t have to be told that she’d get the job if he liked what he read.
He folded the second letter and stuffed it in his left trouser pocket. “If these check out, we’re in business. Tonya seems to like you, and that’s my main concern. When could you start?”
She hadn’t gotten that far. “I need two or three days to get my stuff stored and settle my lease, but I’m fairly certain I could be here Saturday morning.”
He seemed to hesitate. “How do you expect to care for an active baby while you’re writing?”
“I’ll write while she’s asleep. If an idea pops up at any other time, I may