Reborn

TM

This book is dedicated with love to My Heavenly Mother/Father God, My father in Heaven, Captain Robert L. Varner, Sr., USMC ret.; My mother, Annie C. Varner; My father on earth, Mel Williams; My spiritual father, Pastor Cecil L. “Chip” Murray; and The loving memory of my favorite uncle, Eddie Logan, a.k.a. Fast Eddie.

Chapter 1

Although the boy was only six years old, he carried himself with the bearing of a small man. Mature beyond his years, he had never allowed anyone to coddle him, much to his mother Carrie’s chagrin. At this moment he was angry with both of his older sisters for teasing him by calling him a baby, all because his mother insisted on putting him to bed before the moon was even full in the sky. The three children had been lounging peacefully in their playroom, each engrossed in their own activities until Carrie interrupted them, changing the mood entirely and causing Eddie to become the center of unwanted attention and teasing. “You’re just a baby, Eddie, and babies need plenty of sleep…I’m old enough to know that at least!” Sofia whispered behind her hand, as she pretended to rock her Thumbelina doll to sleep. “I’m not anybody’s baby an’ I don’t need no sleep.

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Anyway—who you calling baby, Sofia? You’re just barely older’n me!” “You, Eddie…B-A-B-Y!” she spelled out. “And I am two whole years older than you, which makes me way older! If you weren’t such a baby you would be able to count!” Sofia chanted gleefully, enjoying torturing her little brother; he was too big for his britches as far as she was concerned. “Mama…Sofia’s calling me the ‘B’ word.” “Oh why don’t you stop being such a brat and go on to bed, so we can all have a little peace and quiet?” Odele chimed in with her typical haughty attitude. She was trying to read her Movie Stars fan magazine and all the noise was getting on her nerves. On top of that, the last thing she wanted was her mother to come running to Eddie’s defense, as she always did when it came to her son. In Odele’s opinion their mother had never displayed love to anyone other than her sons. If she’s not careful God will take this one too, Odele thought and just as quickly tried to banish the thought from her mind. She loved Eddie and never wanted anything to happen to him: it was just that she never understood why her mother’s face never lit up for her the way it did for Eddie…the same way it had for her older brother Edward before his death. No matter what she or her sister Sofia did, it was never worthy of more than a nod of approval from their mother. Consequently her sister Sofia chose their father, Logan, as the parent she sought approval from; whenever he was present he could be relied on to freely give all his children approval and affection. The only problem was that, as a prominent minister, he was a very busy man and frequently not at home. Even with Logan’s many absences Odele gave him credit for never showing favor for one child over the other. Hearing the sound of her mother’s approaching footsteps as her heels tapped on the hardwood floor, Odele buried her face in her magazine, pretending to be too

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engrossed to be disturbed. Surreptitiously she watched as her mother’s eyes quickly assessed the situation. “Sofia, stop irritating your younger brother—not baby, younger.” Smiling at Sofia, she winked conspiratorially while Eddie studied the exchange closely and in his childlike way realized he was being placated and didn’t care for it one bit. Without being consciously aware of the impact of his actions, he instinctively responded to regain a position of strength. Emulating their father, the boy stood with his shoulders erect, as he had seen his father do so often in the pulpit, until he knew he had everyone’s undivided attention. As it was with his father, so it was with Eddie; within moments every eye was turned toward him. Purposefully ignoring both of his sisters, he stepped forward, grabbed his mother’s hand in his and slightly tugged it to indicate she should follow him as he led her from the room. Just as they crossed the threshold, Sofia quickly put her doll in its crib and ran to Eddie, hugging him close. Standing still, he allowed himself to be hugged as though contemplating whether to return her affection. Momentarily he hesitated before yielding. He brushed her hair gently with his small hand, his anger forgotten. As he glanced past Sofia, Eddie’s and Odele’s gazes locked and fastened; black eyes met hazel with an air of expectancy, and for a moment the air was charged as though both were trying to gauge whether to war or acquiesce. Just as suddenly, the charge left the air, Odele stood up, magazine in hand, feigning a yawn. “I’m tired, too…think I’ll go lie in bed and read a little more.” Walking directly to her brother she leaned over and whispered, “If I get scared I’ll come and get you. You know…for protection.” “G’night, Mother.” Odele walked past Carrie without making eye contact. She was always careful to walk the thin line of respectfulness, although she was never affectionate.

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“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Carrie watched the exchange between her children, always amazed at her son’s ability to turn a situation to his advantage. He had a special language with his sisters, always insisting that they respect him. Like many households that had one son among several girls, he was referred to as the little man and was accustomed to being catered to. Carrie hadn’t overheard the whispered remark from Odele, but she’d observed her son’s response and knew that it had been just what he needed to hear. Looking from Eddie to Odele, she attempted to catch her eyes to nod her approval—but, as customary, her daughter passed her with an air of indifference, uttering a perfunctory goodnight. At eleven years old, Odele was the most difficult of her children, and Carrie realized that in large part Odele held her directly accountable for her unhappiness. Acknowledging that her daughter was justified, Carrie took full responsibility. Even now she could recall how she had distanced herself from her children after the death of her first child, Edward. Emotionally numb, she had been devoid of the ability to display maternal affection; that was, until she had Eddie…But by then, too many years had passed. Understanding the dynamics that plagued her family, she reasoned that it would take years to repair the damage. Even so, Odele and Sofia’s desire for motherly affection and admiration had been negatively affected, each handling the void differently. Odele had created a universe where she was the axis surrounded by a wheel of admirers. By the time she was ten years old, she was emotionally estranged from her family, with Eddie being the sole exception. Sofia attempted to emulate Odele to win her sister’s acceptance as a feminine replacement for their mother. At best, Odele seemed to tolerate her sister’s efforts, preferring always the company of her elite and snobbish circle of

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friends. It was a rarity, one that made Carrie’s spirits lift, to see her eldest daughter respond kindly to one of her siblings. After the brief exchange with Odele, Eddie had stuck his chest out confidently, and turning back to his mother he whispered, “I’m ready for bed now.” Mystified by her son, she took his hand and walked the few feet from the playroom to his bedroom, thinking that in his own way he had reprimanded his sisters through his actions as though he were a man. The Daniels’ home, in the prosperous Third Ward in Houston, Texas, had been designed with a wing of the house just for the children. They each had their own bedroom and private adjoining bathroom. The playroom was located at the entrance to the wing and served as a common area for all the children. Eddie’s room was located between Odele’s and Sofia’s. As Carrie passed by her eldest daughter’s room she heard the familiar noise coming from behind the closed door: Odele always dreamed of being an actress, and would often perform in plays at her school. Each evening it was her habit after reading her fan magazines to sit in her bedroom and listen to her favorite radio broadcast, The Shadow. Carrie smiled to herself, she could almost set her watch by Odele’s habits. Once Eddie was tucked into bed, under the quilt made for him by his grandmother Megan, Carrie left the room still thinking of the conversation she’d had with him about his sisters’ teasing. “Eddie, your sisters tease you because they love you and that’s what older sisters do.” “They should never tease the man of the house; I have to keep them safe,” he stated, completely serious, his expression fixed with firmness uncommon to a child. Carrie studied Eddie. His beautiful black eyes, surrounded by sooty lashes, were intensely compelling and uncharacteristically beautiful

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for a male. Running her fingers through his straight, coalblack hair, she brushed it away from his brow. My son is unlike any child I’ve had before, she thought to herself; he is more a man than a child. It occurred to her that she had never spoken to him in baby talk or used nicknames as she had done with her other children. As though by unspoken agreement, Carrie respectfully called him Eddie. Unwavering, Eddie’s eyes held his mother’s, compelling her to reply. “Eddie, you are the man of the house when your father is not here. As for our safety, now that’s the last thing I want you to worry about. We are safe.” Eddie continued to study his mother, intently weighing her words; she noted a shift in his eyes, signaling he had arrived at a decision. Instinctively she knew from his expression that he did not agree with her. “Goodnight, Mama…I love you.” Leaning forward, Carrie kissed her son’s brow. “I love you too, son…Mama loves you too.” Listening for the click of the door as it closed, Eddie lay staring out the window, deep in thought. She doesn’t know about the monsters, that’s why she thinks she’s safe. Pulling the radio from the nightstand he placed it on his bed under the covers. Adjusting the dial, he repositioned the antenna so he could hear the broadcast. Eagerly waiting for the show, he listened with bated breath; anxious for the adventures of The Shadow to begin, he hummed to the commercial. “Brylcream…A little dab’ll do ya!” As the show began he leaned forward, his nose almost touching the small speaker in the radio, so intently did he pay attention, as his imagination let him see the broadcast on the screen of his mind’s eye. Chills ran down his spine as he listened to the familiar refrain, indicating the program had come to an end. “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The

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Shadow knows!” Letting out a sigh of relief, Eddie returned the radio to its place on the nightstand and stared out his window hypnotically. Fighting to stay awake, he hoped Odele would be too scared to sleep alone tonight. Finally, unable to stay awake any longer, he gave in to the lure of sleep. In his dreams he pictured himself as the hero who rescues his sisters and mother from The Shadow…Eddie slipped into a deep sleep, only to be awakened a short while later by real screams that were not coming from his radio. “No! Please stop, Logan…please!…Stop…please!” Not certain whether he was dreaming or awake, for a moment he thought the screaming was right outside his door. Disoriented, filled with an indescribable sense of dread, Eddie automatically wanted to do as any six-year-old awakened in unfamiliar circumstances would. Tears immediately sprang to his eyes and his mouth opened to cry out for his mother— but then he stopped short, recalling that only babies cried. Again he heard a scream, then muffled cries. Jumping from his bed he ran in the direction of the sound. His knees felt weak, but his determination to be brave overcame his fear. Running down the hall toward his parents’ room, he gave a startled cry when someone grabbed his arm, pulling him unceremoniously into a room where he came face to face with Odele, her face red and swollen from crying. He saw Sofia also crying softly, sitting on the bed. “Sssh! Be quiet, it will be over soon…Eddie, just stay with us—we’ll protect you,” Odele whispered. Shaken, Eddie broke free from her grasp, staring at his sisters in stunned disbelief. His awareness shifted and his vision blurred like a blind man’s and he lost sight of them. Their fear was so palpable it filled his senses until he could taste the bile in his throat. There’s a monster in my house and I have to protect them

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from it, he thought with childlike rationale. Wrenching free from Odele’s grasp he ran from the room toward the sound without a backward glance, determined to find his mother. He was sure she needed his immediate protection. Heart hammering in his chest, Eddie stood in the hallway, listening keenly for the monster…the same monster he’d imagined dwelling in the recesses of his closet. Hearing a thud coming from his parents’ room, he walked woodenly toward the sound. With each step he readied himself to face the monster, fully expecting it to jump out and confront him at any given moment… that is, until he came face to face with it. Turning the knob silently, he entered the room, hoping to launch a surprise attack. His eyes as large as saucers, Eddie’s knees weakened and his bowels turned to water as the monster came into full view. To his horror the monster and his father were the same person, almost. The monster must have transformed into his father; this disheveled man-beast standing before him was barely recognizable to the boy. Eddie had never seen his father in his present condition, his hair mussed, his cheeks flushed beet-red and his eyes bloodshot from rage, reeling in anger at the audacity of someone entering the room. Logan turned toward the door, demanding, “What do you want, boy? Get the hell outta here—I’m talking to your mama!” Jumping in fright, Eddie’s gaze fastened on the naked form on the floor and the realization washed over him that the bruised, disfigured woman was in fact his beloved mother. “Do you hear me, boy?” Eddie could not miss the underlying tone, insinuating imminent danger, but still he remained. No monster was going to get his mother. “Uh-uh, monster-Daddy, you’re not talking…Mommy’s hurt! I’m here to save her!” Logan’s lips curled in disgust, the veins in his neck pulsing

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dangerously. “Save her? Save her? Why, boy…I’m the only one that can save her! I’m gonna beat all hell out of her. Save her? Even God couldn’t save her from being a whore!” Although he didn’t understand the barrage of insults, the word whore was stored in his memory to be retrieved later, when he could fully understand its meaning. This event would forever change Eddie; without his knowledge or permission, his view of marriage and relationships would always remain scarred by his father’s accusations and his mother’s actions. No matter how much Eddie loved his mother, women were whores. This event impacted his ability to love, trust and respect a woman. Despite what he saw unfold, he always remembered what he heard and what followed. Unable to reconcile the scene that played out before him, Eddie saw his father as the embodiment of The Shadow, pure evil, a monster. As though a spell had been broken, he mutely ran toward the monster disguised as his father, fists flailing wildly, intent on stopping this attack against his mother. Bravely he stood up against his father, receiving Logan’s wrath in order to save his mother from the savagery of his rage. No longer able to hide in their rooms after their brother’s departure, Odele and Sofia followed in his wake. He attacked the monster moments before they entered the room. Hearing his sisters’ screams of horror, he was momentarily confused, looking around, he fully expected another monster to show itself. The young boy fought wildly, trying with all his might to physically disable his monster-father and interrupt the attack against his mother. Blinded by anger and jealously, Logan regarded his son’s assault as a personal affront and fought him like an adversary instead of his own child. At first he willfully ignored the cries and pleas from his wife and daughters to have mercy and stop

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his attack on his son, intending to stop short after he taught him to stay out of grown folks’ business. He had almost come to his senses when, in an attempt to save Eddie, Odele jumped on Logan’s back, scratching his face and pulling his hair. “Leave him alone!” she screamed maniacally. For the first time in her life Odele’s loyalty had been challenged—and she chose Eddie. At the same time Carrie twisted her body free and started biting and scratching Logan, demanding Eddie’s release. Determined not to be defeated, Logan fell back into the wall, knocking the wind from Odele and causing her to slide from his back. Swinging around wildly, he kicked Carrie, a satisfied smirk lighting his face when she doubled over, becoming motionless. Turning his full attention toward his son, completely unsympathetic, Logan’s face contorted grotesquely as he released a guttural scream of rage. Terrified, Eddie felt his bladder release even before Logan’s hand connected with his jaw. Logan, gaping in stunned silence, watched his son sail across the room, his small frame smashing headfirst into the wall. Sanity returned to Logan immediately and with painful clarity, his scream of rage becoming shrieks of grief and remorse. In a span of milliseconds Eddie’s eyes filled with tears of shame. He had not been able to help his mother…. He could even hear her screaming his name. Somehow she was drowning out the monster. Without warning he felt his neck snap forward as his head hit the wall. Letting go, he sought the solace of unconsciousness and the company of the Shadow killer. Later in life when he became a man, he would recall that night—not because of the beating…but because of what came after. Logan’s blow had knocked Eddie unconscious, resulting in a concussion that left him hanging on to life in a semi-coma for over a week.

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During his recovery his mother explained that while he’d been in a coma she had remained by his side, sitting near his bed for days, watching over him. Because of her fear of hospitals after the loss of her first child, Carrie insisted that Eddie stay at the Nortons’ home. Louise Norton was his mother’s closest friend; she and her husband, Thomas, had come to their rescue after the assault by Logan. Eddie’s mother told him that for four days he never moved a muscle. The doctor had closely monitored him and instructed her to continue to speak to him softly. He’d also cautioned her of the risk of moving him because of his injuries and the possibility of internal bleeding. On the fifth day, just as the doctor left the room, Eddie cried out like an infant, curling his body into a fetal position. Carrie knew then that she had to ignore Dr. Washington’s directions. She had lost one son; she did not intend to lose two. Grabbing the frail boy, she pulled his body out of the fetal position, using all of her strength despite her own injuries, demanding that he wake up and fight back. Even as his body resisted and tried to maintain its curled position, his mother pulled and tugged until she forced him to uncurl by placing her body over his, pleading with God to give her son back to her. She begged His forgiveness, assuring Him that she would guard this child whose life was hanging on a thread because he had tried to protect her. As Eddie listened to his mother describe the events after his accident, he was never able to explain to her that although God had replied, it was not her prayers, but his, that were answered. At the same time that Carrie was petitioning God, so was Eddie. His request was simple: “God, please send me back so I can protect them, that’s all…just protect them.” And when he reached that thought, in his prayer he felt God smile and sensed His nod. In his mind he heard, I am Jehovah

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Elohim! I will protect you. Death tried to snatch him, but through grace he had just been reborn… Eddie awoke. Leaning his head back he looked upward, uttering, “Jehovah Rohi…” The Lord is my shepherd!

MIGNON

Chapter 2

Sitting at her desk, Mignon tried unsuccessfully to concentrate on the proposal she’d received from her broker. Instead, her gaze kept returning to the mahogany case that contained the journal…a written account of what boiled down to the choices, both good and bad, of four generations of women in her family. Her own mother, Ana, had passed the journal down to her, opening a Pandora’s box of revelations that would forever change Mignon’s life. She contemplated the impact the journal had on her—it was like staring at her reflection in a mirror, forcing her to consider the consequences of choices she’d made and wonder how they’d affect her children in years to come. Her brow furrowed in consternation as she pondered whether she’d have the courage to write a true account of her actions, her history. Or whether she’d give in to the desire to gloss it over and justify her indiscretions with excuses.

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Lately it seemed as though she could think of nothing else but the journal and the effect its contents had on her life. Unable to concentrate on her work, she put the proposal aside and reached for the case, picking up the leather-bound journal. It had now been more than five years since her mother—the lastborn child of Carrie and Logan Daniels, and the baby sister of Odele, Sofia and Eddie—had given it to her. At first she had been puzzled at her mother’s timing in giving her the book. When she’d first received it she thought it was purely a historical account of her great-grandmother’s and grandmother’s lives. Instead, the journal chronicled the lives of the matriarchs in her family, including her own mother, Ana, revealing startling accounts and confessions that had never been openly discussed. Even the truth of her own paternity had been revealed, although Mignon had yet to reconcile her feelings after finding out her father’s true identity. After all these years of knowing the truth she still hadn’t initiated contact with her father—the marquis. It was enough that she had met him once, and considering the path her life had taken, she couldn’t imagine why he had not told her that she was his daughter. He had played the role of charming tour guide, winning her heart and then disappearing from her life. Each time she thought of him she was reminded of the disappointment she’d felt after he left without explanation, so Mignon decided to follow his lead and let sleeping dogs lie. She would not allow her imagination to wander far enough to consider how it would feel to be the acknowledged daughter of French royalty. Daydreaming, Mignon recalled the first time she met her biological father, Marquis Pierre Michel St. Honore, when she was thirteen years old. She had traveled to Paris with her mother, Ana Daniels, a famous songstress renowned in Europe as “Le Fonce Fille”—the Blackgal. Her mother had

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been selected to perform in a remake of a Josephine Baker classic. When Mignon first learned of her mother’s plan to move to Paris she was reluctant, not wanting to leave the States and make the trip to France. To her surprise, when their flight arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport they were surrounded by the Parisian paparazzi and whisked away in a limo to a beautiful town home. Mignon’s life changed almost overnight, as she was introduced to a lifestyle that she had never imagined. It was easy for her to understand why Paris had enchanted her mother. Once they were settled into the beautiful town house, her mother introduced her to the marquis with the explanation that he was an old friend she’d made during the time she lived in Paris. Even now Mignon found it hard to believe that she had been in her biological father’s company, laughing, talking, exchanging ideas, and had not in some way been able to make the connection. Maybe if she had seen the St. Honore birthmark, she would have recognized it as the same one that branded the back of her neck (and later, her children’s). Instead, after meeting her father she saw him only as her mother’s friend. Even though she knew Monsieur St. Honore had eyes only for her mother, to Mignon, Pierre was her first real crush. Each day she looked forward to the almost magical surprises and sights that he would plan for them. After all these years she still recalled the disappointment when he’d called to cancel their dinner plans. Disappointment had turned to devastation as the days turned into weeks and there was still no word or message that followed; they never heard from him again. This heartbreak, along with the one Mignon experienced after her mother’s divorce from the man she had been raised to believe was her biological father, shaped her expectations for men. Sooner or later they would

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leave, sooner or later they would disappoint or hurt her. It was only after her own divorce that Mignon realized she had been a magnet, attracting the very type of man she feared. Although it had been more than five years since learning the truth of her paternity and the true identity of her father, she still had not asked her mother to explain her motive for misleading her and concealing her father’s name from her. As a parent herself, Mignon realized that sometimes circumstances could cause a person to respond to the situation at hand without thinking of the long-term effects. She also knew that it was possible to believe you are being protective without fully realizing that the repercussions may ultimately alienate you from the one person you’re seeking to protect. Still, as a parent you proceed intent only on protecting your cub, willing to deal with the outcome…whether good or bad. She believed that her mother had acted out of protection, that the circumstances had prevented her from telling Mignon that she was the bastard child of Pierre Michel St. Honore. In retrospect, she was thankful—she had weathered enough storms without the additional burden of being marked by a scarlet letter. As far as she was concerned everyone made mistakes; as a parent, she believed that, like her mother, she would inevitably make a mistake that may be perceived as unforgivable. So Mignon forgave, that one day she would be forgiven. Anyway, the fact that she knew her father was a Frenchman of noble birth was of little or no importance to her in the scheme of things. If her biological father, Pierre, had not chosen to permanently exit their lives when he did, then Richard Warner—her stepfather and the man that Mignon thought of and called her father, her dad—would not have entered their lives. Consequently, Dad had been there throughout the trials of Mignon’s life. From her teen years through adulthood Richard

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had played an integral part in her development. He was Dad to Mignon and Pah-Pah to her children. He had introduced her to God, insisting that she join the church, using his own life as his testimony. She became a willing follower as he taught her how and why to tithe, to pray, to praise! As an adult she surprised herself when she first echoed the words, “God bless you.” It was as an adult that many of his lessons in life began to manifest and take form as she helped her husband attain his vision and realize her own greatness. Dad’s presence taught her that although Pierre had donated his seed, Richard Warner was like the tenant sharecropper; even if he didn’t own the land, he tills the soil lovingly, watering and weeding, diligently protecting the seed from crows that would seek to eat the young fruit alive. But unlike the seedling that does not know the face that lovingly cares for it and protects it, that grows only to produce fruit without allegiance to its protector and provider, Mignon knew who had cultivated her. She had been nurtured, watered and protected, she had learned all over again to love and trust. Not in man, but in God.… She had indeed become a faithful student. Like any student she had struggled against acceptance of the lessons that had been lovingly imparted, but even in her rebellion her dad, Richard, had stood by her side. Mignon believed that was because Richard had led her to God; as a result it was Richard’s calling to watch out for her. As far as Mignon was concerned, it was too late for Pierre to try and walk in Dad’s shoes. Too many years had passed and all of her significant life experiences had occurred without the knowledge or acknowledgment of his true identity. Now, at almost forty years of age, Mignon had reached a crossroads; she was entering the realm of midlife. Although society dictated that her youth should be behind her, she still felt as though her gaze remained on the climb assigned to youth and

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not on the platform of maturity assigned to a person’s forties. Now is the time for me to start writing my story, she thought, running the tips of her fingers lightly across the journal’s worn leather like a blind man reading Braille. Her facial expressions reflected fear and uncertainty, causing her brow to furrow and her fingers to pause in their caress. Feeling momentarily daunted, Mignon thought of the fact that the words she placed on paper would forever have an impact on the lives of her children, just as the stories in the journal had on her. I will have to write with the same courage that already fills the pages of this journal; the courage to be truthful about the paths that I have willingly chosen and the outcomes both good and bad. In a nutshell, this is what made the leather-bound book so powerful: it contained the truth, good, bad or indifferent. The journal had been a lifesaver for Mignon, helping to strengthen her resolve to move forward in difficult times. The lessons contained in the journal had taught her to have enough faith to place one foot in front of the other and keep on stepping. At times Mignon would reflect on the paths that she had willingly taken in her life and the challenges she had faced in the span of the last five years. She knew it was easier to believe that any negative situation you found yourself in was a by-product of someone else’s poor decision. Mignon had a different belief because she had walked through more valleys in a five-year span than most people face in twice as many years. After ten years of marriage Mignon left her husband, finally acknowledging that they had married for all of the wrong reasons and that wrong wouldn’t become right with the passage of time. In fact, just the opposite occurred. At first the disdain had lain dormant, leaving the appearance that it

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didn’t exist. But as with the caterpillar that encircles itself in a cocoon, an irreversible metamorphosis was taking place. Emerging from the cocoon, the butterfly leaves without a backward glance at the husk that once provided it shelter. In the beginning she’d ignored the signs that indicated abuse; she naively thought the verbal abuse was an overexaggerated reaction resulting from a difference in opinion. She didn’t realize that verbal abuse is the toddler stage in a cycle that would ultimately escalate to physical confrontations and abuse. Even the fact that no amount of pretense could change the outcome, Mignon still second-guessed her decision to end her marriage. Like most women, especially those who have been historically victimized, she wanted to believe there was something worth salvaging from the years of emotional investment. Although her husband, Gerald, had become increasingly violent, she allowed herself to be convinced that he should be given one last chance to prove things could change for the better. In her heart of hearts Mignon wanted nothing more than for him to prove her wrong so she could return to their home again. Yet even as she was entertaining the idea of returning home, the news of his latest infidelity confronted her in the form of his pregnant mistress. So Mignon finally accepted the fact that reconciliation was out of the question; she would only be reconciling herself to accept the very abuse she had run from. Facing up to her state of affairs, she chose not to allow her fear of being without a husband paralyze her and cause her to be ineffective. In the end, she had no choice but to accept that her marriage had run its course—that it was, in fact, finished for them. So Mignon filed for divorce and prepared to move back to Los Angeles with the calm assurance of a woman who expects to receive alimony and child support to help them move on, with the certainty that the

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children would continue to be provided for as they had since birth. After all, as a couple Mignon and Gerald had led a very lavish and extravagant lifestyle. Without a doubt she fully expected him to continue to support her and the children as he had when they were married. Over the years, Mignon had become as accustomed to luxury as she had to abuse. Logically, she didn’t expect the end of physical abuse to also be the end of the lifestyle that both she and Gerald had worked together to attain and that their children had been born into. While Mignon expected to receive both alimony and child support, she reasoned that she would definitely have to work in order to maintain an acceptable level of comfort with the increased cost of living in L.A. However, a shift in lifestyle was well worth her peace of mind and the lack of drama was more than worth scaling down for. After making the decision to retain a lawyer and file for divorce, Mignon immediately began to update her portfolio with plans to research commercial interior-design firms in L.A., in pursuit of consulting opportunities. In Chicago she had developed a reputation and a lucrative career designing the interiors of upscale restaurants and nightclubs. Next, she found a Realtor to assist her in finding a home in a nice community, wanting a smooth transition for the kids to help them to adjust to living on the West Coast, thousands of miles away from their father. Mignon had all of her ducks in order and was proceeding according to plan. When she’d left Gerald, she had followed the advice of a friend and taken some of their belongings, putting the remainder in storage. She fully expected to return to her home, if for no other reason than to settle on a division of property. Intent on maintaining civility in her dealings with Gerald, Mignon hoped to create a new rapport that would allow him

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to be comfortable in a continuing relationship with the children. She was so set on her focus to get through what she so naively perceived as her “valley” that it never occurred to her that she hadn’t reached the valley yet. In the scheme of things she was on a slight decline that would eventually unexpectedly slope downward and cause her to stumble and fall on her knees in the valley. Mignon wholeheartedly believed that Gerald, the father of their children, would provide both emotional and financial support for his own flesh and blood. However, that was not to be the case; in fact, she had to make adjustments as a single parent and downscale to a much more modest lifestyle. In less than the blink of an eye not only had she become another single mother, but her children had become statistics simply because she had chosen to end their charade called marriage. So instead of wallowing in disappointment, instead of wallowing in hate, instead of wallowing in Oh Lord, why me, she recalled the stories of her grandmother Carrie as she faced the infidelities of her own husband, Logan. She thought of her mother, Ana, as she made the decision to give birth to Mignon and then later to raise her alone. She remembered the lessons of her beloved uncle Eddie that weren’t chronicled in the journal, but should have been. The lessons he taught her were the ones she had the greatest regret in pushing aside: how to take chances…be bold…live life to its fullest, never fearing the outcome. Even when she was a teenager and he’d chaperoned her around parts of Europe and observed her at times seeking acceptance from the wrong crowd, he had instructed her. “Noni, you got to believe in yourself.… Everything you will ever need is already in you. That’s why you don’t need to check with another cat to see where you’re at or what you should do. The biggest mistake you can ever make is asking

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someone what you should do. If you do, eventually you’ll face defeat through bad advice—whether ill-intended or not. Your defeats will act like a magnet, drawing you to situations where your loss drains you until you stop trying. Then you’ll be left wide open to face the worst possible fate…death. But not the death that you think—this is the one that takes your spirit and claims your soul, then lets you live.… Only you never know you’re really dead. It’s that cat’s entertainment: a parade of zombies going through the movements, walking toward him…ole Mr. Death. The sad part is that because they don’t know they’re dead, they’re looking forward to their physical end. These are the people looking for a diversion while they are living and breathing as an escape from their unhappiness. Like those junkies on Hollywood Boulevard seeking a fix. Man, the crazy part is, they could have changed their lives and found happiness in themselves.” It was only recently that she’d realized she had been among the living dead. Then she recalled God’s intercession as He made ways and opened doors, pouring her out a blessing greater than her mind could conceive or her heart could hold. Instead of wallowing, Mignon started stepping…tentatively at first, as though she were treading across thin ice on a frozen lake. But like the winter fisherman, she ceased being fearful of the density of the ice and began taking steps based on faith…not fact. Her first step of faith began when she took all of her savings and invested every cent along with a business loan to open a quaint coffee lounge at the base of Fox Hills. At the time it was the most frightening step she had taken…even more so than walking away from her marriage and the comfort that it offered.

Chapter 3

Settling once again into life in Los Angeles after having been away so many years was a little difficult for Mignon as a single parent. Now that she was no longer able to purchase a home, she reevaluated her finances and rented a small twobedroom apartment in Fox Hills. The civilized divorce that Mignon had anticipated had turned out to be anything but civil. Gerald was trying to bankrupt her into defeat, but this time he would not find gratification; she would not cower or bend. Instead she began to acclimate herself to the huge responsibility of being the head of the household. Needing to put some distance between herself and the divorce proceedings, Mignon began to reconnect with old friends, many of whom had children. Along the way she found one thing that was a constant: Surprisingly, she was faced with the challenge of finding a place to meet her friends where she would feel comfortable

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enough to bring her children. She would have settled for a place where she could just sit, relax, or enjoy conversation with friends, but even that was not easy to find. Now well beyond the point in her life to club-hop, Mignon wanted to be able to meet her friends and bring her kids without feeling out of place—as though she’d invaded or violated an adult playground. She had been single and childless when she’d left L.A.; now she felt like she had moved to a foreign land with unfamiliar customs. Los Angeles was a haven for the single and childless. Not many establishments relished the sight of young children entering the door, and parents with children in tow immediately felt the sting of rejection when entering an adult playground. As time passed, Mignon almost became obsessed by the desire to have a place to go, with or without her children. After perhaps a year of obsessing about the problem, she came up with an idea: a coffee lounge. The idea was fueled after an unsuccessful attempt at bringing her children on such an outing. She had been so upset at the rudeness of the wait staff and the looks of disdain from the patrons that she’d had no desire to go home. Instead of going back to the small apartment, Mignon continued driving to her parents’ Hancock Park home. Exchanging surprised glances at the ringing doorbell, Ana reluctantly arose from Richard’s embrace as they cuddled on the chaise lounge and listened to Al Green on the stereo. “I’m not expecting anyone,” she remarked, surreptitiously checking her watch. “Are you?” “No, my baby…just expecting you to hurry back,” Richard replied with a wink. “Flirt. I’ll see who it is. Why don’t you freshen our drinks and I’ll be right back.”

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Ana walked toward the front of the house; checking the drive, she saw Mignon’s SUV. “It’s Noni and the girls.… Babe!” she announced. Face etched with concern, Richard got up from his seat and joined Ana. Holding open the door, they embraced the girls tightly, followed by Mignon. “Everything okay?” Richard asked as Ana led the girls to the kitchen for warm milk and cookies. “Everything’s fine…I just felt like talking and thought I’d drop by.” Mignon’s face flushed with embarrassment when she took in the full scene and realized she had probably interrupted an intimate evening for her parents. “Uh—er, sorry, Dad.… Judging from the fireplace and Al Green.… I’ve got really bad timing.” “Nonsense, baby. If you left now without telling your mom and me what’s troubling you, Mom would worry and keep me up half the night. Isn’t that right, baby?” Richard acknowledged Ana’s entrance in the room, moving his body and lightly patting the place beside him to indicate where she should sit. She settled next to her husband and Mignon’s parents studied her, expecting to hear another startling turn in what they now considered the saga of her divorce. Instead, she surprised them by focusing the conversation on her observations since returning to L.A., launching into her perceptions about the lack of places to go that welcomed children or families. Puzzlement turned to intrigue and before they knew it both Richard and Ana were tossing around ideas of how to impact and change the present social conditions for single parents in Los Angeles. They embarked on an extended brainstorming session as they all thought of concepts to provide an outlet for people like Mignon, whose social life largely involved her children. Finally exhaustion overcame the trio; Mignon told the kids to gather their belongings to go home.

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“Sure you don’t want to stay here?” Ana offered expectantly, grasping Richard’s fingers lightly to confirm his approval. “What, and violate another adult playground?” Mignon exclaimed playfully. “You both looked at me like I had two heads when I showed up at the door.” “We thought something was wrong, that was all,” Richard responded. “Yeah—something like I must’ve lost my mind! Come on, girls.… Old folks need their rest.” Mignon couldn’t resist the playful teasing. “Speak for yourself, honey—nothing old here but this house,” Ana responded teasingly. “Touché! Love you guys.… I’ll ring you in the morning—g’night.” “Good night!” By the time she left her parents’ house that evening she could not put the conversation or ideas to rest. After arriving home and putting the kids to bed Mignon sat down at her computer and began to create exactly the type of place that she had in mind. Mulling the idea over for a few days, she became obsessed at seeing it through to fruition. Asking God for guidance, Mignon prayed about the direction she was being pulled in and stepped out on faith to take it to the next level. Over the next month she spent her days and evenings formalizing the concept and constructing a business plan. Once she felt comfortable with her approach, she consulted her father for advice. Instead of trying to persuade her to put her dreams on a burner, he encouraged her aspirations. As always, she could rely on him to be supportive of her personal goals. She was still able to remember the words of encouragement he had spoken to her, sensing

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that she was vacillating on whether to proceed or stop short by not even trying: Baby, you can make anything a success that you believe in, even yourself. Faith…that’s all it takes…if not in yourself, then in Him. So don’t be afraid to lean on Him until you believe in you, and then step out on Him. His words had strengthened her resolve to continue to shape her vision into reality despite the odds that indicated she should not be successful. Eyes brimming with tears, she hugged her father, feeling a confidence she hadn’t felt in years. “How do you do it, Dad?” “Do what, baby?” “You know…always give encouragement…despite the odds?” “Living, baby. Dad has journeyed along some of the same roads that you’re on. I’ve learned that you have to turn your fear to fuel.… Don’t react to it, if you do it paralyzes you.… Instead, absorb it and allow it to motivate you into action.” “I will. I have no other choice, right?” “Right—so let’s get down to business. How do you intend to finance this venture? Fifteen thousand dollars won’t be enough.” “I know, but that’s all I have. Maybe less than that if I continue to spend every cent on attorneys’ fees, especially considering that Gerald is an attorney and using every trick in the book to make my life unbearable.” “Then walk away from that battle alone. Cut your losses and move on with your life. Let’s identify what you really want from the divorce.” “Sole custody of our kids and freedom so that I—we—will never have to be subject to his cruelty again.” “Baby, if that’s all you want I’m sure you’ll get it. Gerald is vindictive and with his history it could be argued that he is

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a fool, but he is not stupid. Call your attorney and have her make the offer and move on with your life.” Kissing her on top of her head, Richard picked up the business plan, flipping through to find the capital outlay. Studying the figures intently he closed the folder and looked at Mignon. “Is this a venture you want to seek traditional funding for, or would you be interested in private investors?” “I think traditional is out of the question, Dad. I would be interested in private investors—however, I don’t want a partner. I’m confident that this is a good idea and I don’t want to be connected at the hip to a partner. I want enough autonomy to make business decisions and grow according to my vision. I’m leaving a bad marriage and I definitely don’t want to begin another one.” “All right…that’s a wise approach. I believe I may be able to help you on this. I have some clients who are always looking for a good investment opportunity. If you’d like I can shop your idea around, and who knows, we may be able to get a few key investors interested enough for you to make a formal presentation.” “That would be great, Dad—Whew, you don’t play, do you? In less than an hour we’ve settled on two major courses of action.… Man, I feel like a ton of weight has been lifted. I’ll call the attorney first thing tomorrow and begin to prepare for the investors. Thanks again.” “No problem, baby, that’s what I’m here for.” Mignon left her father’s office that afternoon with a renewed sense of confidence and an air of expectancy. The next day she made the call to her attorney with her offer. As her father had predicted, she got sole custody, period. But instead of feeling fear at the lack of financial support, she now felt motivated to succeed. What Mignon didn’t know was that, after the attorney

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relayed her offer, Gerald readily accepted, eager to see Mignon suffer for publicly humiliating him by leaving him and taking their kids. To assuage the guilt he should have felt, he rationalized that she was being a martyr. He believed that once Mignon came face to face with the reality of her situation she would realize how he had been worth his weight in gold—in more ways than one. Gerald chuckled to himself at the myriad of ways that Mignon would suffer. For now, financial suffering was almost as good a start as any. If only Gerald had known that two thousand miles from Chicago, Mignon was busy preparing to present her business plan to the investors her father had lined up. Instead of concerning herself with Gerald or his pettiness, she was thoroughly reviewing her presentation and anticipating prospective questions. After many hours of rehearsing and rewriting until she could recite the presentation as though she were holding a discussion among friends, Mignon finally rested with confidence that she had covered all her bases. For years she had shadowed her father, studying his expertise in gaining a client’s confidence and in maneuvering negotiations to guarantee the desired outcome. When her father called to tell her he had a group of potential investors, she was elated. The engine was running—now all she had to do was stay on the track. On the day of the presentation she dressed carefully, paying attention to every detail of her appearance. Standing at her closet, she chose a navy-blue-and-white pinstripe St. John suit with the matching St. John spectator sling-back pumps designed to complement the outfit. Although St. John wasn’t particularly her style, Mignon felt as though it would give the impression of both maturity and professionalism that would win any investor who may have concern for her lack

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of experience or the fact that she wasn’t a man. Both traits were necessary to any potential investors, giving them the seal of confidence that they were making a good decision. Giving herself a final calculated inspection, she changed her mind, thinking she looked a little too severe with her hair pulled into a tight bun. Making a last-minute adjustment, she pulled the pins from her hair and let it flow loose down her back wild and unrestrained. Checking her reflection in the full-length mirror, she grabbed her handbag and portfolio and left for the Santa Monica office building her dad owned. Arriving at her father’s offices an hour early she walked through the atrium lobby to the reception area, smiling to herself as the fond memories of the summers she’d spent as an intern flooded her mind’s eye. Waving at Joe Riley, the shift security supervisor, she walked to the bank of elevators and used her key to access the penthouse. Her father’s employees were loyal; the most junior employee had been with him eight years. The sense of family gave her the extra boost of confidence she needed. As the doors slid open silently she stepped from the elevator, which faced a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows that were the signature of the executive level. Sculptures and artwork by up-and-coming African American artists were placed throughout the impressive corridors leading to the large double doors that marked the entrance to the executive suite. Opening the doors, she walked past the receptionist. “Hello, Pammie!” “Hey, Noni, how’re the children?” “They’re fine. How about yours?” “The same…fine.” Mignon strolled over to greet Barbara, her dad’s executive assistant and younger sister. They hugged lightly and kissed the air—a ritual between the two women—and Barbara took

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a step back, inspecting Mignon from head to toe. “You look absolutely mahvelous, darling…that is, if you were ten years older. What’s with the old-lady get-up?” “Okay, you sound just like Mom. Don’t start, I’m only dressed this way to instill confidence in this group that I am mature enough to be trusted with their money.” “Honey, this little bit of money you need is far less than these men spend on their mistresses in six months.… But that’s another conversation for another time.” Mignon’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. Her aunt never failed to catch her off guard with her outrageous remarks. Chuckling at her own wit, Barbara stated, “Your dad said you’d arrive exactly an hour early and it seems he was right. How ya doing? Feeling nervous, anxious?” “Well, not until you mentioned it—I was feeling pretty good.” “As you should, dear heart, as you should.” “Is Dad available? I thought I’d pop my head in and say hello before we get started.” “Of course he’s here, but he is meeting with a gentleman who flew in from Europe this morning.” “Mmmm. That’s strange. Why would anyone fly in from Europe and go directly into a meeting without at least resting up for a few hours?” Mignon casually checked her watch to determine the time difference. “Oh, well, maybe I made a mistake. Maybe he flew in last night.… Your aunt is getting older!” Barbara winked conspiratorially, knowing that she was still striking at fifty-five. “That’s not the way I hear it. My sources say you have more dates than most women half your age, so, Auntie, try to convince someone else. As a matter of fact, I intend to call you for pointers when I’m ready to get back in the ring!” “You do that, Noni. Your aunt still knows a thing or two about the dating game. First thing I’ll do is take you shopping

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and get you out of those old-lady clothes! Come on, let’s go to the boardroom, it should be set up by now.” Barbara’s assistant, Doris, stood near the entrance to the boardroom, ready to offer coffee, tea, or cold beverages. She greeted Mignon warmly when she walked in. Efficient as ever, Barbara took her seat at the computer station in the rear of the room, docking Mignon’s laptop and centering the image on the screen. “Would you like me to run the PowerPoint or is it easier for you to do it yourself?” “I can control the slides, but I’d like it if you can record questions or note any areas that I may need to respond to as a follow-up.” “No problem, just like I do for your dad. You’ve learned well, kiddo.” Barbara beamed, proud of her niece—then, hearing the buzzer signaling the arrival of the elevator, she turned back to Mignon. “Looks like they’re on their way up. I’ll go tell your dad. Doris, will you escort our guests in? Good luck!” “Thanks.… I’ll be ready.” Instead of looking over her presentation, Mignon turned her back to the room and gazed out the window, breathing deeply to calm her nerves and gather her thoughts. She did not second-guess her presentation or her appearance, she was prepared and determined. If this didn’t work, something else would. As the door to the room opened she turned around, smiling with a warm confidence. Positioning herself at the threshold she greeted each of the potential investors, thanking them for their attendance. After everyone was seated her father entered the room, followed by an elderly man with aristocratic bearing. Approaching Mignon, Richard kissed her on the cheek, apologizing for his late entrance. He proceeded to introduce her to the elderly man as an old friend visiting from London, Sir Austen Weatherall, explaining that Sir Weatherall had mentioned an interest in sitting in as a po-

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tential investor on behalf of one of his clients when he learned she was making her presentation. After everyone had been served coffee and biscotti, Mignon signaled to Doris to pass out the confidentiality agreement to the investors, allowing them time to read and sign the document while she took the opportunity to study the group. “Are we ready to begin?” Richard asked, nodding around the table with the authority of one used to running the show. As Doris picked up the last confidentiality agreement, Mignon found herself almost rudely staring at the Englishman. There was something about this man that was vaguely familiar, but not as a friend of her father’s—although, she reasoned, she had met so many business acquaintances of her father’s over the years that she may have just forgotten. The elderly man took the paper with his gnarled fingers; studying it closely, he returned the document to the table and gazed at her candidly. “Good form, my dear. If I don’t invest, then I will not use your idea, you have my word on it.” Blinking in surprise, Mignon glanced at her father, uncertain of her next step. She could feel all eyes on her; Richard nodded his head slightly, indicating she should proceed with the presentation. Taking a deep, calming breath, she turned toward the group and began the PowerPoint overview of her venture. Fielding questions, she noticed that Sir Weatherall appeared only moderately interested. He listened courteously during her presentation, but during the question-and-answer period he turned to the windows and studied the view, from time to time leaning over to ask her father a whispered question, seemingly about the view. As she concluded the meeting Mignon was certain that she would get a positive response from at least three of the six by the deadline in two

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weeks. She felt confident that she had effectively presented her business plan in a convincing manner to fund her startup. Standing at the boardroom door, she shook hands, thanking each attendee personally. Once that was done, she returned to sit with her father, who was engaged in a warm conversation with Sir Weatherall. Studying him as a possible investor, Mignon realized why he looked so familiar. She had just read an article in Forbes about how this unique man had left a life of privilege to represent an eccentric cadre of clients ranging from Texas oil magnates to info-tech geeks and athletes. When he’d first hung out his shingle he’d been the joke of Wall Street, but today the wealthy clamored to be among his clients since he had more than doubled his existing clients’ portfolios. Forbes quoted that “Sir Weatherall seemed to have a nose for a good idea.” As she joined them and took a seat the elderly man turned to her, adjusting his tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and giving her his full attention. “Well, my dear, exactly how long do you think it will take you to get this venture up and running? My schedule is quite full after the next quarter and I’d like to at least have a walkthrough before you open the doors to the general public.” This time Mignon was speechless. “I, uh—I mean, it, er— it’ll take at least three to four months. Are you saying you’re interested in becoming one of the investors?” “Absolutely not, my dear!” Mignon felt her spirits drop as quickly as they had risen; sighing deeply, she only hoped that was not the sentiment of the others. “Well, it’s not I.T., but it is a good opportunity for continuous growth.” “I agree. I.T. has gotten boring, that’s why your venture interests me. I am not interested in being in a group, I am interested in being the sole investor.” A play of expressions crossed Mignon’s face. “Sir Weatherall, I’m afraid this may not be what you think…”

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“I know what you’re thinking, and your father has already informed me that you don’t want a partner—that is, if I can be so presumptuous as to assume I know you that well, after all, we only just met an hour ago. However, I specifically have been looking for something frivolous and different to invest in. And I think this fits just perfectly, my dear.” Uncertain how to proceed, Mignon looked past the elderly man to her father as a barometer. She hoped by expression he would help her make her decision. To her surprise, he uncharacteristically pretended to be studying his cuticles, signaling that she would have to make her own decision. Eager to get the project started, she extended her hand, taking care not to grasp the elderly man’s arthritic fingers too firmly. “Then I would be delighted to have you as an investor, Sir Weatherall.” “Austen, my dear, simply Austen. So if you are interested in proceeding with the deal, I will call my banker and have him wire the funds by Friday. Is the paperwork in order now? If so, we can execute our agreement today.” For the first time, Richard looked up, and again Mignon felt a fleeting edge of uncertainty as she uncharacteristically was unable to read his expression. “I’ve already had my staff attorney draw up the documents,” Richard said. “Everything is in order.” Silently, Barbara picked up the phone and called the legal department. Within an hour the deal was finalized and the three celebrated the new venture with a toast of Veuve Cliquot—a favorite of her mother’s, and a case of which her father consequently always kept in his bar for these occasions. The deal was sealed with a toast and Mignon was on her way.

Chapter 4

On the drive home from her father’s Santa Monica office, Mignon replayed the events that had transpired and prayed for direction. A few days later her Realtor called to advise that a location in Fox Hills was available. Trying to appear nonchalant, she scheduled a tour of the property. After the tour she knew the building located at the base of Centinela Boulevard and Green Valley Circle was exactly what she wanted. It took several weeks to complete the negotiations before the contract was finalized, but throughout the process God’s presence was evident. The landlord agreed to allow her to lease the property with only a small deposit. He believed in the viability of her concept and her ability to draw the crowd to support her endeavor—Fox Hills, centrally located amid the neighboring communities of Ladera Heights, Westchester and Marina Del Rey, was a haven of buppie and yuppie residents. As promised, Mignon opened “Cinnamon’s Coffee

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& Comestibles,” a coffee lounge at the base of Fox Hills, within three months—right on schedule. Intimately involved in every step of the process, from choosing and negotiating lease agreements on equipment to selecting the inventory, Mignon was able to give free rein to her passion: single-handedly designing and decorating the coffee shop with her signature style. She had vision and the confidence in her ability to make it happen. To make the most of her budget, she spent weekends going to yard sales, estate sales and secondhand shops to select overstuffed chairs and love seats that would adorn Cinnamon’s. She located end tables and lamps that would give the restaurant the eclectic appeal she desired. With her friend Paula’s help she hunted through the downtown outlets for fabrics in olive greens, mustard and browns to reupholster the love seats, chairs, stools and lampshades. The walls were painted the color of cinnamon, and coffee pots of fresh-cut apple peels and cinnamon sticks were always brewing, leaving the air tantalizingly mouth-watering with the fragrance. The terrazzo floors and countertops complemented the cinnamon-washed walls and gave the shop a cool Caribbean feel. In the evenings Mignon would scrounge the Internet and bookstores trying to learn everything she could about coffee. She studied brands, types and methods of preparation. Practicing in the small kitchen of the apartment she would concoct a variety of coffee drinks and match them with desserts that perfectly complemented their flavors. Next, she searched old bookstores and secondhand shops for gently used books, blending an eclectic assortment of titles. She placed the books casually around the coffee lounge on end tables and on the floors by the couches. Some books were placed on tables folded open or turned over, as if the reader had just stepped away only moments before.

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Through an archway at the rear of the shop was a small room designated for clientele with children. The walls in this room were painted with children sitting, kneeling, running and playing on an East Coast beach—possibly Tar Beach at Martha’s Vineyard. The painted overcast sky inspired relaxing thoughts of a restful time of day, created as if the artist had decided that late September or early October was the best time of year. The realistic mural dominated the room. As in the main room there were sofas and chairs, but in miniature, with children’s books placed around the room. Old wooden schoolroom desks and chairs were placed in groups of two in each corner with a checkerboard centered between each pair. Three easels stood against another wall in graduating heights, thick with pads of newsprint and heavily supplied with crayons. It was a room that enticed a child’s imagination, where he or she could play quietly alone. It promoted thought and not action, so that parents could sit close by and have a relaxed conversation or read books without the constant interruption that occurs when a parent has to monitor a child’s behavior. Finally ready to tackle the exterior of the building, Mignon had it painted the same cinnamon color as the interior. The front was lined with clay planters of various sizes filled with fragrant plants and flowering trees. Instead of the traditional wrought-iron chairs and tables that were typically used in sidewalk cafes, Mignon had circular rattan chairs, circa 1960s, with deep hunter-green canvas cushions and side tables placed next to the chairs. The chairs were large enough for one person to curl up in or for two to retreat for a private conversation. A hunter-green canvas awning with “Cinnamon’s Coffee & Comestibles” written across it covered the patio. Still not satisfied with the exterior, Mignon had the roof covered with sheets of rusted metal like on the shanties in Jamaica. She believed that the ambience of any establishment

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began curbside, from the parking lot, and provided continuity to the customers when they entered. The parking lot of Cinnamon’s looked like an island retreat. Topiaries trimmed in the shape of coffee pots and cups were placed at the entrance and mature ficus trees in clay planters lined the perimeter of the parking lot to provide a sight and sound barrier from the traffic on Centinela Boulevard. Whenever it rained, the sound of the rain on the roof was like wind chimes, soothing and hypnotic. Sitting on the patio one could watch the rain flow over the edge like a curtain, transporting the customer to tropical locales. Finally, after three months of hard work, Mignon was ready to open the doors of the coffee shop. As promised, Sir Austen Weatherall flew from London to see the end result. As she nervously waited for the limousine carrying Austen and her parents, Mignon’s stomach flipped every time a car drew near. When the driver pulled through the gates and came to a stop, the back doors of the limo opened before the driver had a chance to get out, and she knew by her parents’ expressions that they were shocked at the transformation. Mignon felt triumphant and pleased when Austen exclaimed, “My dear…in my wildest imagination I would never have expected this! Are you sure you don’t want a partner? This would be a great franchise!” Smiling behind tears, she said, “I may take you up on your offer at another time—right now I just want to get this off the ground. Anyway, this is only the parking lot.… I can’t wait for you to see it all!” Mignon walked over to her parents; stepping between them, she clasped them by the hands. “Come, let me take everyone on the grand tour.” Ana and Richard exchanged glances, beaming with pride. “Where are my girls?” “They’re here, Mom—sssh! They want to surprise you and Dad.”

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Walking up the steps to the entrance Ana marveled at the topiaries, while Richard found it almost impossible to wipe the grin from his face. Mignon stood at the door ceremoniously and announced, “I would like to welcome you to Cinnamon’s!” With a flourish, she swung open the leadedglass etched doors. To their surprise, all the employees were in uniform and ready to be of service. Sitting around the fireplace, Mignon’s three daughters sat eagerly awaiting the arrival of their grandparents. Cody, her youngest daughter, yelled out, “Meemaw! Pah-Pah! It’s us—we’re over here!” Madison and Summer, the two older sisters, exchanged a disgusted glance. “They can see us, Cody,” Madison said in exasperation. “There’s my babies!” Ana responded, holding out her arms for the girls. The girls ran to their grandparents, hugging them and kissing their cheeks with unbridled excitement. They couldn’t wait to show them the children’s area. “Calm down, girls. I want to introduce you to Sir Weatherall—he is the investor I told you about.” “Austen, my darlings, not ‘Sir Weatherall,’ ” he replied, smiling kindly. Before Mignon could reply, Summer, her middle daughter, responded matter-of-factly. “Okay, Mr. Austen. We can’t call adults by their first name, but I can if I use ‘mister’ or ‘sir.’ ” “Fine then, Miss Summer, you’re absolutely correct.” Austen winked at Mignon and bowed to her daughters. “I’m a titled Brit, so why don’t you call me Sir Austen. I like that better than ‘mister.’ ” “Very well, then. Sir it is,” Madison replied, easily mimicking his accent. “Follow me, Sir Austen, Meemaw, Pah-Pah.… I’d like to give you the tour of the children’s retreat at Cinnamon’s!”

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Confidently, Madison led the way, enjoying every moment of being in the spotlight. Afterward they all sat around the fireplace in the comfort of the oversized chairs and sofas, sampling the coffees and desserts. Mignon discussed her intention to have a soft opening to work the kinks out before she advertised. That evening they stayed for hours, talking with the staff and making plans for the future. The day the doors opened it seemed as if most of the traffic entering or departing Fox Hills stopped in to look around and ended up staying and buying coffee and pastries. Word began to spread like a wildfire and within the first month Cinnamon’s had more customers than Mignon would’ve ever imagined. To her surprise, she never had to advertise. There was no other place like Cinnamon’s, and her clientele loved it. Mignon would never be able to explain the sense of pride she felt in the early months, especially when she was able to pay her obligations with a substantial amount of money left over. As her dad had taught her, Mignon tithed ten percent, saved ten percent and reinvested the rest.

Chapter 5

Several months after opening Cinnamon’s, Mignon was plunged face-first into another oceanic depth when she received a call that devastated and changed her life. Her father was on a flight to London with Sir Weatherall when the plane experienced engine failure, causing it to crash into the Atlantic Ocean. There were no survivors. Rushing to her parents’ home, Mignon found her mother was inconsolable. “I tried to persuade him not to take this trip,” Ana explained out loud, as if restating her fears would change the outcome. “But you know your father, he insisted on going. He said Austen had an opportunity he wanted to check out firsthand and he’d return in a week.” “It’s gonna be all right, Mom.” Mignon’s words fell with a hollow ring. Dad had been the stronghold, the anchor for them for so long that they both felt the pull of the wave as the ocean yanked their vessel from safe harbor. Too weak to row

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to shore, they wrestled the storm of grief, washed under by the mile-high swell of the torrential wave. They were unable to breathe—drowning seemed inevitable; they were at sea and there was no land in sight. Ana, unable to reconcile her loss, tried to form a cocoon of her memories. Not knowing what else to do, Mignon called the only person she could rely on other than her dad. Mignon called her uncle Eddie. Eddie now lived in Milan, Italy; true to form, he responded, “I’ll be on the first thing smoking, baby! Tell Ana I’m on my way.” Mignon was certain that he would know just what to do. The next morning her grandmother Carrie arrived. Angel, her cousin, was flying in from Denmark. Her aunt had coordinated picking everyone up from the airport, freeing Mignon to run errands and stay close to her mother. At over ninety years old, Carrie was still a formidable woman. The years had not withered her in the traditional way. Her hair was still thick and pure white and her tan skin was taut from years of care. She still maintained a sense of vanity that could be attested to by her perfectly manicured hands and feet. The delineation of age was indistinct when Carrie entered as the parent who has come to soothe the pain from her child; it faded completely when she dropped the shroud of parenting and revealed the woman who had also experienced the death of her own husband, John. Taking her daughter’s hand, she immediately knew what to say to calm Ana. Although she knew Mignon was in pain, hers was not the inconsolable loss of a soul mate. So Carrie directed her granddaughter Mignon on making arrangements for a memorial service, instinctively knowing that the busier Mignon stayed the better off she’d be. Carrie realized her granddaughter had barely finished a bitter divorce and she did not want her to confuse her loss and sink into a pit of grief that would not be easy to rise from.

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*** Within hours, the news had spread of the tragic accident and the loss of life of Richard Warner and Sir Austen Weatherall. It seemed as though, without warning, the family was surrounded by a throng of people offering condolences. The media, business associates, friends and family were present as soon as the news of prominent entrepreneur Richard Warner’s untimely and tragic death was broadcast. Mignon, Carrie and Eddie all tried unsuccessfully to keep Ana sheltered until after the memorial service. On the day of the memorial service, Ana entered the edifice where they had worshiped for more than twenty years. She would not allow anyone to escort her to the front pew, as was the funeral tradition. Instead she insisted that she go to the same row and seats that she and her husband had occupied over the years. Mignon watched as her mother took her seat in the third row. Understanding the significance of the seat Ana took, Mignon intercepted and laid her Bible on the pew on her mother’s left, in the space her father had always occupied. As her mother glanced up at her, Mignon saw a glimpse of gratitude from eyes that had only held a blank stare. She slid past her mother and sat next to Uncle Eddie and Meemaw Carrie. The church was overflowing; Pastor Murphy also noted that Ana sat in her usual pew. He had known the Warners as a closeknit, loving couple, and understood the depth of Ana’s loss. As he stood to give the eulogy, he recalled the sermon he had given several years before on true love, using Ana and Richard’s marriage and undying love as the foundation of his sermon. Now he spoke in earnest of a life that continues when the flame of a loved one’s life has been extinguished. Listening intently to the eulogy, Mignon hoped for a message that would help to shed light on the frailty of life and the power of pain to stun, stagger and defeat. Leaning forward, she felt herself almost straining as she awaited an

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explanation; with righteous indignation she looked heavenward to her Heavenly Father for counsel. She was tired of losing and this loss was too great to comprehend.… To the world, Richard was just her stepfather. But to Mignon, he had been a lifeguard who had thrown out the line when she was going down for the last time. The first couple of times he’d thrown out the line she’d been so young and full of herself she felt she could make it to shore alone. The next time wasn’t so easy—she had believed that wealth could shelter her and buoy her, making her an island sufficient unto itself. But the last time she had been so weakened that she couldn’t even stay afloat, and Dad began to pray her back to the top; even though her lungs were full of water and spiritual death seemed imminent, he prayed until her will to continue returned and she grabbed hold of the lifeline of the Trinity. Not only had she been able to make it ashore, she’d begun to build castles fashioned from grace that the oceanic waves of life couldn’t pull under. She wanted to stand up and yell at the top of her lungs that he had given her life—not biologically, but he was her father and she would forever be his daughter. Instead, Mignon sat stoically as the tears ran freely down the side of her face, resting in her hairline, as she spoke to Him, petitioning now to the Father who had and would always be there for her, like a spoiled child, shoulders heaving at the loss of life…the loss of love…broken promises. Harnessing everything in her to maintain her slipping composure, her mind was filled with accusations. Leaning forward in her seat, she blocked out her surroundings, in tune only to the message being delivered. Pastor Murphy continued. “ ‘Pastor, the lord is my shepherd.… I shall not want.’ ” Mignon looked up at the pulpit for the first time since she’d been seated. Ana also watched and listened, mesmerized.

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“That’s what Richard would say, when someone complained about lack. The son of a widow who’d raised five children wouldn’t allow his spirit to become polluted with anything other than God’s word.” He continued, reminiscing on the conversation. “I remember confiding in Richard one evening after a church meeting.… I was tired and disgusted. So I told him sometimes the preacher needs preaching. Sometimes we get weary.… I am but a man. Do you know what his reply was?” Smiling at the memory, Pastor Murphy looked out at the crowd that overflowed the church, filling inner and outer courtyards and the balcony. “Can anyone tell me what he said?” he posed the question to the congregation. From the balcony a man stood up, followed by another on the main level slowly, then a woman in the choir stood. Several teenagers in the overflow rose to their feet, until it seemed that the entire congregation was standing. This time the Pastor’s smile broke into a heartfelt chuckle. “Yes, you do.… What did he say?” In a thunderous voice the congregation echoed, “But, GOD!” “That’s right, church. ‘But, God!’ When I was weary Richard told me to remember Moses and the pilgrimage that took a lifetime.… But, God! But God told me to tell you one thing—be still and know that He is the Lord! Be still, Ana, and know that Richard is with Him.… But, God! Ooooh, wherever you hear the word ‘but’ it should always be followed by God—but, God!” Brokenly Pastor Murphy cried, filled with the Holy Spirit. The eulogy had become a sermon. As the spirit passed through the congregation the people filed to the pulpit to be saved, to renew their relationship with God while the choir sang. “What a mighty God we serve.… What a mighty God we serve.… Angels bow before Him, Heaven and Earth adore Him.… What a mighty God we serve!”

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Sitting next to her mother, Carrie, Ana stared blindly at the symbolic empty coffin, her mind filled with loving images…but she held on. Fists curled, nails biting into her palms, almost drawing blood in the crescents that sank under the pressure, still she held on. Nothing like this had ever happened before in the history of the church. Looking heavenward, Pastor Murphy smiled through tears, knowing that this was the greatest honor anyone could have given Richard. His life had been his testimony and his mission had been to lead anyone he met, young or old, rich or poor, man, woman or child, to the Lord so that they would know what he knew. “God bless you, my brother,” the pastor uttered, unable to slow the flow of tears. Gathering himself, he returned to his office to pray and prepared himself for the trip to the gravesite. Ana held on in the limo as hundreds in the funeral procession traveled to the gravesite to honor the man she had loved. She held on as her pastor gave the last rites…although by then the blood ran freely from her palms where her nails penetrated the crescents that had become raised welts, and fell in droplets to the earth. He’s not in there…just breathe, she told herself as images flashed of Richard. Ana’s eyes no longer held the empty casket as it was being lowered into the earth. Instead she saw Richard swimming, laughing, sleeping, teasing and loving. Her grasp weakened.… Her grip was slipping… unable to hold on, to hold out any longer. A wail of despair and loss issued forth from her. My love…my love…take me with you! As the casket filled the hole, unbearable pain filled her. Her screams rose. Even as her daughter and mother tried to calm her, their attempts were futile. Ana, who had never believed in making a public scene, no longer cared. Her mind was filled with all the horrors that Richard had washed away—how it felt to be called

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“Blackgal” as a child…not worthy of a father’s love…the diva of Paris…not worthy of her lover’s devotion…the mother of his child, unworthy of his name…until Richard, her Richard, her love, called her priceless! Their love timeless! Forgetting the crowd, she mourned. Forgetting the time, she mourned. Forgetting all but her loss, Ana mourned. She never felt her brother’s hand holding her, the same hands that had held her since she was a child, protected her against the world until she became a woman. The same arms of her brother, Eddie, who held her against him as she raged in pain, held her and soothed her, spoke to her in a language that had been shared only between them. “Death can’t have you, Blackgal.… Richard doesn’t want that.” As she attempted to pull away, Eddie pulled her closer. “It’s pain, baby, ride it…but don’t stay too long.… Ride it, now. Then you gotta get off.” Tilting her chin with his finger, he met her eyes. “Understand, Blackgal, I’m not gonna lose you.… I’ll be here till you’re ready for me to leave. Just understand I’ll never be farther than you can reach.” Leaning her head against his shoulder, Ana cried until she had nothing left, and Eddie held her with no intention of leaving her side. Hours passed before she was willing to leave the gravesite, knowing that she would never return after today. Turning around, they walked hand in hand in the direction of the limo, only to be met halfway by her mother and daughter. Three generations held hands, supporting each other. Ana’s loss was tremendous; Richard had been a pillar of love, support and strength to both Ana and Mignon. Now Ana did what she had always thought would be impossible. She left him. In the months that followed, Ana cut all familial ties except an occasional phone call to Mignon and the girls to see how they were doing and let them know where she was. Ana had

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chartered a yacht cruising around the world without a destination, and only on rare occasion would she set foot on shore. Typically when they reached harbor she would wait for the crew to take leave and restock but she would rarely leave the ship. So was the routine she created for several years as personal penance for outliving Richard. During this journey she learned the hardest lesson of all…forgiveness…not of others…but of herself. She forgave herself for being a survivor so that she could move on and enjoy the remainder that life yet offered. One evening Ana stood on deck, her eyes drawn to the distant shore; instinctively she knew it was time to end this means of escape, although she still was not ready to return home. Picking up the handset, she dialed the extension to the captain’s quarters. Moments later, hanging up the phone, she thought, Mmmm, guess I’m going to need to brush up on my Castilian, baby. Looks like I’ll be living in Barcelona for a while. Tomorrow we dock, so once I hit dry land, my baby, I will not be back. I can’t stand it any longer.… Another day and I would be too tempted to jump into the welcoming tide and search for you. Sighing deeply, Ana held her final conversation with Richard. Suddenly she felt a cool breeze swirl and caress her face almost playfully—it lifted her hair, and then, changing directions, it seemed to encircle her shoulders. She would never discuss her conversations with Richard at sea, nor would she ever tell how he returned to caress her a final time before letting her go. She would always believe that she went ashore with his love, blessing and protection as a final farewell.

Chapter 6

Mignon was reeling at what ultimately resulted in the loss of both parents: Ana’s departure and self-imposed exile had left her without either of the two people she’d depended on the most. After her father’s sudden death she was unprepared for the emptiness she felt at not having either her mother or her father close enough to talk to or touch. Immersing herself in running Cinnamon’s and spending time with her children, Mignon knew firsthand that life was too precious to take for granted. She should have felt empowered, having reached this personal crest; instead she was floundering, at times completely overwhelmed by grief and the loss she felt after the death of her father. The desire to wallow in this Death Valley of despair was so great that she first had to visualize movement through the valley before she could mentally propel herself to take the first step. However, unlike in her previous journeys, she could not call on Dad for direction,

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support or advice. This time she learned that the only way to get through a valley was one step at a time. She also discovered that all valleys were not created equal— some had only slight inclines, whereas others were aptly named. Like Death Valley: bare, barren, with extreme temperature swings from hot to cold, and difficult to maneuver because of the unadaptable terrain. Travel through these valleys was always slow and treacherous, laced with quicksand and mirages of defeat. But her greatest lesson was learning that you were not supposed to linger, lie or stay in the valleys—you were supposed to only pass through using whatever momentum necessary to propel you to forward movement: pushing, pulling, crawling or dragging. This passing could be a slow, laborious stride requiring every ounce of strength, but once you reached the edge and just before placing your foot in the fresh grass, you needed to glance back and recall the lessons as you ascend from the valley to the next plateau. She often heard her father’s voice and understood the Twenty-third Psalm for the first time. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.” Man’s presence is unpredictable, lasting maybe for a moment—but God’s presence is for a lifetime. His protection is for all time. She realized that the most valuable gift Dad had left with her was greater than his presence.… He had taught her to seek God first in all things. She could hear him telling her, “Seek Him first, baby.… He’ll make the answers plain.” So that was exactly what she did, putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the suction of quicksand yank off her boots and the grime suck through her toes; one foot in front of the other, as the thorns penetrated her instep; one foot in front, as the rocks sliced through her heels; one foot in front, until she hit dry hot land and the pebbles threatened to cripple

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her; one foot in front, as the foot blackened with infection and the pain penetrated bone in the frigid temperatures; one foot in front, until there was a cleansing torrential rain; one foot in front, as the rain cleansed the wounds and the infection was sucked out by the mud; one foot in front, as the mud dried thick enough to offer protection; one foot in front, until she walked across a field of grass; one foot in front, as she stood atop the mountain; one foot in front, as she turned to look back at the valley. Standing on the precipice for a long moment she was shocked that the depth was much shallower than she’d expected, and even more surprised that it was not as daunting from this distance as it had seemed while she was in it. In the valley, Mignon had focused on her pain for so long that she had not been aware of the healing that was taking place. Glancing at her reflection in a mirror, she expected to see some physical mark that would always represent her journey through the valley—some scar that would reveal her suffering, something obvious to the naked eye to signify the depth of her loss. Surely she would be hobbled by the extreme mutilation she had experienced or at the very least have to take slow, deliberate steps to compensate for the damage caused by her injuries. To her complete amazement, instead of weakness she discovered her gait was stronger, more assured. Instead of looking down, she stared straight ahead with confidence and determination; she knew who her Shepherd was. Mignon kept her eyes on Him as she made her way through the valley, until she was no longer able to see valleys, only slopes and inclines…a path toward His promise. On a pathway to the desires of her heart, to the manifestation of His love, she walked through the valley, her gait steady, her gaze ahead. Within a year of her father’s death she moved her family

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from the small apartment to a home she purchased less than five minutes away from Cinnamon’s in the hilly suburbs of Ladera Heights. It was not grand, like the home the children had known since birth, but it was theirs and it was perfect. The girls had their own rooms, which was a luxury after they had shared a room in the Fox Hills apartment. The house was complete with a small backyard and an inground pool— something they’d all agreed was a must. She lovingly purchased each piece of furniture, bit by bit, until her home felt like Cinnamon’s, cozy and relaxing. Mignon and her daughters adjusted and settled into a new routine. They were happy in their new home with room to spread out. She felt so blessed to be able to provide a home and stable environment for her daughters. They would never again be awakened by her screams of pain or terror. She prayed constantly, hoping that time would erase the scars left behind by the years they’d suffered through her misery. As a family unit they had overcome many challenges, but the girls understood that there were still many ahead and always supported Mignon with their love and earnest trust. Although the loss of Richard haunted them all, it also created an unbreakable bond. Together they prayed, together they talked about him, together they visited his gravesite and together they healed. If there was a certainty for Mignon it was that God had given her the responsibility of three—not as a burden, but as a blessing. He gave her enough responsibility to become a catalyst; she knew there would be no in-between. They believed in her and she believed in Him. And the reality of a lack of success and the impact on her children made her faith stronger and lessened her ability to see failure as she had so often in the past. No odds are insurmountable, if you embrace success and accept failure in a singular fashion, like the individual steps

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of a steep staircase. Each step may be hard and tiring. You may even slip, but forward motion will bring you to the top. Sometimes when you think your exhaustion is insurmountable and you can’t go on another step, God sighs and you gain a second wind. The next thing you know you’ve gained momentum and you’re no longer taking one step at a time— instead, you’re skipping steps to reach the top. I’m not at the top yet.… But I will be, she thought. That was almost three years ago, and even her wildest dreams had not prepared her for the overwhelming success that Cinnamon’s had become. It was now in its fourth year and Mignon was already scouting out her second location. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; she had already found it and had even contacted her Realtor. Now she was awaiting the outcome of the initial offer, which signaled that the games had begun. Negotiations were one of her least favorite, albeit one of the most necessary, elements of the process. She hadn’t told anyone about her plans to expand and open a second location. Nor would she, not until they were concrete and she could give the location and date of opening. Mignon had learned to go with her gut instincts when it came to business decisions. Experience had taught her that friends and family, although well-meaning, will talk you out of your dreams and into their reality if you allow them even the smallest opening. So as with all things of importance to her, she kept this information to herself. Privately, she enjoyed the process and anticipated the outcome she desired. Returning to the present, she glanced at her watch to see how much uninterrupted time she’d have to make her first entry into the leather-bound journal. Sitting at her desk, pen poised above the linen paper, she tried to decide where to begin her story. Without allowing thought to consciously form, her story

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began in the only logical place: with her uncle Eddie. His effect on her life was as interwoven as the colors of threads of a needlepoint on canvas. Her story could not be told without the shades that intersected to create the pattern, and finally, the portrait, of her life. From Eddie she had learned that a pillar of strength was only as strong as the balance of the weight placed upon it.

EDDIE

Chapter 7

Although Eddie had been born into both wealth and position in the Negro community, he’d accepted it as a matter of fact and not a matter of due. His confidence was intrinsic to his psyche; it was more than a birthright. Unlike his sisters, he never allowed the transition from being a have to a have-not to penetrate his armor. Eddie was a chameleon, able to cloak himself in his surroundings, becoming visible only when and if it suited him. This trait was even more evident after his father’s stroke and his family’s fall from financial and social grace. As a young man he’d watched his mother, Carrie, rise up from the ashes left by his father’s destruction and her own indiscretion. After years, his father’s womanizing had finally caught up with him when he had a stroke in his mistress’s bed. This flagrant indiscretion led to the loss of his congregation and social standing. No longer able to finance their lavish life-

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style, the family of six moved from their home in the prestigious Third Ward section of town to a four-room, churchowned home in Studewood Heights. To make ends meet, Eddie’s mother assumed the role of provider by managing the household of one of Houston’s wealthiest women. Almost overnight their position had changed from being held in high esteem to becoming a subject of pity and ridicule. His father, Logan, was a shadow of his former self. No longer handsome and dapper as in his youth, he’d been left deformed and crippled by the massive stroke. Odele could not bear the dramatic change in her lifestyle coupled with the public humiliation caused by both of her parents. She had gone through life accustomed to being the center of attention, the one who determined who was popular and accepted and who was not. Now it was she who stood on the other side of the tracks. But Odele was unlike the girls who had met her haughtiness head-on as she’d smirked or made callous remarks about their appearance. Odele was basically weak in spirit and ultimately unable to face her classmates. Instead, she imposed her own exile, casting aside her ambition to attend Spelman College to study drama. Her dream future had disintegrated right before her eyes. Unable to bear the shame and humiliation or to live in poverty, Odele ran away from home to find financial success and fame. She was determined not ever to return to Houston; she would be somebody—not weak like her mother. She would never allow a man to dictate the quality of her life. The day Odele left home was the final straw in Carrie and Logan’s marriage. Carrie called Logan’s mistress and demanded she come and get him. Years of abuse ended on the heels of their eldest daughter’s departure. Sofia left home shortly after Odele; Carrie assumed it was to follow and join her sister. But although Sofia tried, Odele would not return

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her calls, cutting all ties to her family. Later Carrie learned that Sofia had tried to contact Odele to see if she needed help financially. Sofia had left home not to run after Odele, but because she was pregnant by a rich, older white man who had ended up giving her all the trappings of a well-cared-for mistress in the hilly suburbs of West Los Angeles. Unlike the other Daniels children, Ana, the youngest, seemed to thrive on the breakup of the family unit. Coddled by Eddie and their mother, she developed the ability to turn aversion into her ally. One evening she sat flipping through the pages of a fan magazine and saw a picture of Odele at her wedding to a movie producer. The caption said the actress Delia McKenzie had wed producer Bobby Goodwin. Studying the picture closely, Ana was certain that the girl in it was Odele. She ran to her mother and showed her the picture, reading the caption aloud. Odele had run away to Hollywood and changed her name, realizing her lifelong dream. Although she was years older now, she had not significantly changed in appearance from the Odele that they knew. Carrie was deeply hurt when she read that Delia McKenzie attributed her unusual look to her “Irish parents.” She sadly resigned herself to Odele’s decision to pass for white, having seen this nightmare play itself out too many times in her own family. She knew with certainty that it would do the same with Odele; Carrie knew firsthand the consequences. So she kept abreast of the life of her daughter, the actress known as Delia McKenzie, like a voyeuristic fan, waiting in the wings until she was needed. All of this played around Eddie like a breeze that touched but didn’t affect him. Odele had always been a survivor, so he had no fear for her. He’d already heard rumors about Sofia, so when she ran away he knew it had nothing to do with Odele, but everything to do with her being pregnant. As for

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Ana, she was Eddie’s heart. Although he ran the streets at will, he was always close enough to protect her. From the time she was an infant reaching out for him when he’d put her down in her crib, he’d always assured her, “I’ll never be farther than your reach.” Eddie’s devotion to his mother was without question, and after Logan’s stroke he hung around to help her as necessary. Hustling, he’d leave money for her or purchase food and have it delivered. Carrie would admonish Eddie for his effort, thinking he was working odd jobs; she’d encourage him to save his money and not spend it on her. His reply was consistent: “Don’t worry ’bout it, Mama. Anyway, you’re the only nigga woman that’s ever gonna pimp me!” However, it was his father’s actions that had the most dramatic impact on Eddie. Consequently, he embodied the effects of both mental and physical childhood abuse: Eddie was both kindhearted and ill-tempered—described as either good or bad, depending on the circumstance and the person. After he’d recovered from his coma, Eddie had spent a large part of his young life studying the sinner who was his father. His opinion of his father was altered from adoration to accusation. In his eyes, Logan was the worst type of hypocrite; for this reason, the mere presence of his father sickened him. As a child, he became accustomed to the many versions of his father’s indiscretions—when it came to Logan there was no surprise. Eddie’s greatest anguish was a result of the widespread rumors of his beloved mother’s affair that many believed resulted in the birth of his sister Ana. This rumor caused him to retrieve the words stored in his memory that his father yelled at his mother. Although now he understood what the term “whore” meant, he adamantly refused to ascribe it to his mother. From what he knew about his father, he believed his mother had been justified in whatever decision she’d made

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regarding him. Accordingly, Eddie drew his own conclusions about marriage and relationships, unable to decipher value in either. He’d decided that he would never trust any woman with his heart; as far as he was concerned, there were only two kinds of women and both were put here to serve the same purpose—man’s pleasure. For that he didn’t need the complications of emotional attachment. His only emotional attachments were the ones formed before he had the ability to control them or feel otherwise; he remained committed only to his mother and sisters. The Daniels household was so dysfunctional that Eddie soon found a new home in the streets, juke joints and alleys of Studewood. As he grew into manhood Eddie purposefully put forth a great effort to shed the cloak of being a preacher’s son. He was not able to discern that, in many ways, the fruit hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Eddie was more like Logan than he would have believed possible. If Logan had been the type of man to unburden his heart to his son, he would have explained that he, like his son, had a gift of persuasion. The ability to articulate his desires combined with his undeniable handsomeness had given Logan the only true sense of power he had ever known. He would have done Eddie a great favor, thereby releasing his spirit to be a different man, if he’d only sat his son down and told him that he, like his son, was a player. He had never truly sought refuge in God, nor took counsel from the Holy Spirit; instead, he had decided that the path he chose would lead him to the desires of his heart: women and wealth. To Logan’s ultimate demise he had in fact accomplished both, making him like his son—a pimp—except that he lacked the courage to be where he belonged—in the streets. Instead, he pimped from the pulpit, leaving a path of destruction in the people

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he’d used and leaving his family shell-shocked. Unfortunately for Eddie, Logan chose never to confide in his son or even his daughters, never offering them the opportunity to seek their rightful purpose in life. Instead, he selfishly left this world with his secrets intact and his children stumbling along blindly, feeling their way through life, hoping to grasp solid rock before they fell to their deaths from treading along on a weak foundation. In Eddie’s eagerness to distance himself from his father, he never understood the value of comparing his similarities or recognized that it would help him to avoid some of the same pitfalls. If Logan had been man enough to confide the truth about himself to his son, then Eddie wouldn’t have tried so hard to reject the church, because he believed it to be the house of his earthly father. Eddie believed in God, not in his father or what he represented. On the other hand, if Eddie had tried to understand his father, he would have learned that Logan’s upbringing—like Eddie’s—had set the stage for his future. They were both men who’d been reared under constant feminine attention. Both Logan and his son, Eddie, had experienced the assurance of feminine adoration; it became the rule of thumb in their lives, not the exception. Consequently, like anything that is given freely with no labor involved to earn it, there is also no value attached. So it was with both men. Women came and went, offering themselves freely; so, freely they took. However, Eddie differed from Logan in that if a woman offered her heart, he always declined. He accepted only the women who offered pleasure because that was something he knew he could both accept and return. Eddie trusted only in himself, never feeling or displaying the emotions of love, trust or affection. Left with the ashes of destruction and the disintegration of his family, he let attachments slip through his fingers, and

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accepted that when death came his way he would take the eternal ride having lived by his own code. After observing the failed outcome of his father, he believed that ultimately the way in which he had lived his life would dictate the route and his final destination whether heaven or hell. At sixteen Eddie was a seasoned hustler roaming the streets and joints of Studewood Heights. He was known as Fast Eddie, the moniker that was always used to describe him. It was the first time in his life that he felt a sense of freedom. His father’s health had declined after the massive stroke and now Eddie didn’t have to remain too close to home, since he no longer had to worry about any harm coming to his mother or Ana at Logan’s hand. Even his father’s cruel tongue had been stilled from the paralyzing effects of the stroke, making the simplest of statements all but unintelligible. Eddie’s family life had dissolved and now the streets of Studewood were his home. Carrying himself with the calm assurance of a man twice his age, Eddie attracted women instead of young girls his own age. Cutting a dashing figure, he stood six feet tall with high cheekbones, chiseled facial features and copper-tinged skin complemented by piercing black eyes and raven hair. Women would touch him as though it were necessary to confirm he was not a mirage. Eddie’s sinewy, muscled body complemented the suits he would design and have tailormade. The epitome of streetwise manhood, from his confident swagger to the panache in his pimp-walk, Eddie would deliberately stare, coolly assessing his prey. He believed that all interactions consisted of predator versus prey, and approached each conquest with casual expectation. His takeit-or-leave-it attitude threw even the most vain or confident woman off her guard, turning the tables, changing her from

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pursued to pursuer willing to go to any lengths for validation. Eddie quickly grew accustomed to the reaction of women toward him; they were attracted like bees to nectar, and he allowed them to get their fill. It wasn’t long before student became teacher and Eddie began to reap the rewards of a well-trained and devoted stable. His position as predator was established for one purpose and one purpose only: to control the outcome. Nontraditional in everything he did, Eddie used his mentor Benny Boon’s juke joint on Friday nights to throw reefer parties, cutting Boon in on the profits. This arrangement was so lucrative that Boon had an addition with private stalls built onto the rear of the juke joint. As word about the parties began to spread outside Studewood, white students from Rice and the University of Houston started showing up looking for reefer, good music and fun. Knowing that they were onto something big, Eddie began to invite his women to have fun at the parties. Almost overnight, things changed for Eddie, and at twentyone he was known throughout Houston. He had two homes, one in the Fifth Ward for his stable, which he would visit weekly. For himself, on the other hand, he kept a home on East Thirty-second Street, a few blocks away from the one his parents had moved to before their divorce. He could easily have moved to a home within the Third Ward, but Eddie loved Studewood and enjoyed his position as the youngest player ever to hold the respect of “the Chosen”—the pimps who had gone big-time and worked the white boys in River Oaks. Like the Chosen, Eddie had all the accoutrements of a successful player: he drove a Cadillac and wore diamonds and gold like a player. Life was good for a while; the streets were full of predators, but Eddie marked his territory and defended it like any pimp in his position would.

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*** Eddie’s only aversion was to the cloying affection of certain women and their attempts to settle him into a lifestyle that he was determined to avoid. He reserved his love for his family, and the easiest way for a woman to be released from his stable was to profess her love for him. He understood economics, pleasure and fulfillment. He did not understand the lack of self-esteem that translated and transitioned from business to emotion. Priding himself on being streetwise, he was often tested because of his youth and enviable position. He would use both his unique charm and keen intellect to outwit and outmaneuver would-be assailants. Life was all about the thrill of the game. As Eddie grew into manhood his reputation for wearing the sharpest threads rivaled his reputation for pulling and running women. Before long, his tailor was paying him a percentage for the sale of suits ordered from one of Eddie’s designs. The only rule of thumb was that his design couldn’t be replicated for three months after he had the original made. The first time he saw one of his designs being worn his chest expanded with pride, and he had to do everything in his power not to betray that the design was his own. Instead he approached the player coolly: “Sharp threads, man…gotta get me a couple.” Leaving the dude beaming with pride, Eddie sauntered away and for the remainder of the day found nothing else comparable to the pleasure he had felt at seeing his design being worn. But this highlight was quickly replaced by the reality of living the fast life; later that same evening, he faced the uncertainty of his existence by staring down the barrel of a loaded gun and then into the eyes of the man with his finger on the trigger. It was his mentor, Boon, intent on taking Eddie’s life over a rumor that the younger man had been with

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his wife, Daisy. To Eddie’s advantage, he owned up to the truth, assuring Boon that it had been early on, before Eddie and Boon ever met. Although Boon’s pain was palpable, he could see that Eddie was not lying. Deflated by pain, his shoulders stooped in hopelessness and confusion; Eddie had been like a son to him. Even when he’d heard the rumor, Boon had known with a certainty that—unlike his lying, cheating wife, Daisy—Eddie would face death before he lied or backed down to any man. No longer wanting to take his life, Boon nonetheless knew his generosity wouldn’t last for long. “Man, we’re through.… Can’t have you around no more.” Studying his old friend, Eddie nodded. “Yeah man, I understand. Shoulda told you myself, but you know how it is, cat—players’ code.” Unable to maintain his composure any longer, Boon allowed his fingers to toy with the trigger. Someone was going to pay for the pain he felt. Interrupting his train of thought, Eddie turned to leave, commenting, “Man, if there’s anything you need just send word.… I got your back.” “Hey, cat…” Eddie turned back to find Boon’s gun pointing at him. Staring him squarely in the eyes, Boon was first to lower his gaze. “I meant what I said. Don’t want to see you ’round here.” This time Eddie didn’t reply, just turned and walked away slowly, indifferent to the drawn gun that remained pointed at his back even as he departed. In the Heights, where life was taken casually and without regret, Eddie’s ability to escape imminent death was legendary and his exploits had become local folklore. Instead of retreating from circumstances where death was a possible outcome, he was attracted to them. The very nearness of death gave him confidence. As long as he could look death in the eye, he thought he would always at

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least see it coming. At one point he even believed that death had a respect for him and all that belonged to him—or that it at least showed favor. So, unlike most people, he never worried about any harm coming to him or any member of his family with death as the final outcome to tragedy. After the incident with Eddie and Boon, Daisy was found with her throat slit. At the news, Eddie decided it was time to leave Studewood as the police closed in on Boon. The last thing he wanted was to be involved with the law in a murder case. Staying out of Houston for a brief period, Eddie returned when he received a call from his mother telling him she was getting married again. It seemed as if everything was coming together; for the first time since he was six he didn’t worry about his mother or sisters. However, this was just an illusion, one that was shattered at his mother’s wedding reception. Later, Eddie could not believe that he hadn’t seen death’s approach, that he had missed and failed to recognize the glint of madness in the eyes of the murderer. Standing between his older sister Sofia and his younger sister, Ana, his later shame was that when he heard the click of a trigger being cocked and saw his grandmother, Megan, fall, his only thought was to get Ana to safety. The moments that followed cost Sofia her life—by saving one sister, he had sacrificed the other. Eddie hurriedly pushed Ana out of the line of fire; when he turned back, he saw Sofia’s eleven-year-old daughter, Angel, who’d been splattered with blood across her face and empty, outstretched hands. Angel was unable to scream—her face was grotesquely distorted with grief and the effort to release her pain. Then without warning, she found her voice. Eddie recalled the rush of movement as people rushed past, although his eyes never left Angel’s agonized face. “Mommie!…Mommie!”

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She released a guttural moan and threw her head back, her pitch rising to a crescendo. Help me! Her screams released him from the grip of shock. Eddie looked away from Angel and ran toward the murderer without regard for the weapon she brandished; staring into her eyes fearlessly, he saw through her madness and searched for the light. Like déjà vu, he felt the same disembodiment he’d always experienced whenever he had been close to death, as if he were a celestial observer looking down on himself. As though sensing the strength of the power behind him, Ruth— his aunt and the murderer of his sister—turned the weapon toward herself, delivering the fatal shot. News of the tragedy spread far and wide as the family mourned. No one could believe that Carrie’s half-sister Ruth had finally lost her mind. For years she had been filled with an irrational jealousy against Carrie and it drove her to destroy her sister’s marriage to Rev. Logan Daniels. But, that destructive act wasn’t enough to quell her insane rage to plot and commit murder. To everyone’s surprise, “Delia”— Odele—did not break her silence even then to send flowers to the funeral or acknowledge the loss of her sister in any way. Ana, or Blackgal, as Eddie called her, had become a celebrated singer in Paris before the tragedy; afterward, however, she wed quietly and within months gave birth to a daughter, Mignon, and settled down in Los Angeles with her new husband. Angel, Sofia’s daughter, disappeared with her stepfather, Julius, the night of the disaster and was not heard from again until she was almost a woman. Incapable of bearing the grief that often visited, wracking him with guilt and shame, Eddie believed he had let God and his family down by not preventing Sofia’s death. Estranged from his family, he resolved to find a different perspective than the one he had accepted as a way of life in Studewood.

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Slowly, Eddie changed his viewpoint; first, taking inventory of his life, he decided the time for change had come. The first adjustment was to change his lifestyle; Eddie stopped hustling drugs and women to start anew, unencumbered by the past. Risks he once took and considered exhilarating, now he no longer enjoyed. During this time he began to have nagging concerns about Odele. Eddie had never worried about her until the loss of Sofia. Odele had always been strong and resilient; even when she ran away, he never worried—if nothing else, she was a survivor. However, after Sofia’s death, Eddie had a presentiment that Odele was in danger. So without a word or a backward glance he moved to Los Angeles as the obstacle of death and Odele’s protector.

Chapter 8

Eddie had moved to Los Angeles in search of Odele. Soon after, he realized that this city was far from his old stomping grounds in more ways than locale. Los Angeles could easily turn a player into the prey, and someone weaker would have been consumed. Not Eddie, though. He was neither hunter nor prey; he was just Eddie, and his reputation had preceded him. The code here was not the same as it had been in Houston. Here, players ran the game on each other, and the betrayal could mean your freedom and, in some cases, maybe even your life. Both were too precious to compromise for Eddie. The L.A. nightlife also came as a big surprise; Eddie had never seen players roll so large. Instead of back rooms in beer joints, this was the real deal where players had clubs of their own. Although he was still attracted by the lifestyle, Eddie no longer had the desire to triumph over the game. He had lost interest in taking the risks necessary to be elevated among

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the heavyweights. A survivor, he had been hustling now for almost half his life and had already accumulated all the possessions a young player could want. At twenty-five years old, Eddie always had a large bankroll, drove a new Coupe De Ville and wore sharp rags. He decided to stay on course and slow down, keeping his eyes and ears open for a way to become legitimate. After all, he had more than enough money stashed away to tide him over, and time enough to ease into a new game. Months after he moved to L.A., his anxiety continued to build as the feeling that his sister was in imminent danger plagued him. At times he would rationalize that he was conveying his grief over Sofia and his inability to protect her onto Odele. Even still, he maintained his focus, determined to find a way to at least talk to her and make sure she was okay. However, Eddie’s task of finding her was much more difficult than he had anticipated. His sister was now a movie star; she had been acting in films on the big screen for almost a decade and had successfully crossed the boundary from black to pass as a white woman. Odele had changed her name to Delia McKenzie and erased any link to her past. Delia’s world was inaccessible to Eddie, as a black man; in fact, he had almost given up on ever being reunited with his sister until the course of his life dramatically changed directions. One evening, as Eddie stood in the checkout line at the corner liquor store, the cover of a movie tabloid caught his eye. Picking up the magazine for closer inspection, he realized the starlet on the cover was none other then his sister Delia. “Not bad for a sister! Aye, mate?” Startled, Eddie’s eyes searched for the origin of the comment. Turning around, he located the source. “What’d you say, man?” He tried unsuccessfully to control the tension that moved from his body into his voice.

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“Nothing, chap, I was just commenting on the starlet. Sorry, mate.… Bad form, I’m always speaking without bloody thinking. What do you think? Passing, right?” “What makes you think she’s passing, man?” Eddie inquired, as intrigued by the British accent as he was by this sharply dressed old dude in black stovepipe pants, cashmere mock turtleneck, black suede loafers and a beret to cover his shining bald head. He couldn’t miss the gold Omega watch with a diamond bezel, or the diamond pinkie ring with the initials “C.F.” He was one of the old players he’d seen around the gambling joints, always dropping C-notes like that was the only denomination cash came in. “Well, chap, not to be a clever dick—she’s good and all, but I been in the business for a while. Trust me on this one, mate, she is passing!” Curiosity overcame Eddie. “What type of business you in, cat, that makes you so sure?” “Fashion and photography. Have you heard of Fournier and Son Haberdashery?” Shaking his head, Eddie said, “Naw, man, what is it?” Turning to pay the cashier, Eddie waited for the older man to do the same. With a flourish, the older man extended his hand. “Cameroon…Cameroon Fournier, tailor extraordinaire and photographer, mate! I’m a tailor by trade, but I’m out taking photos most of the time. Chaps call me Cam.” “Tailor, huh?” “Indeed. My haberdashery is on Fairfax just north of Rodeo. Stop by sometime. Judging from your threads you look like a chap with an eye for quality. I’d like to have you take a look at my line of suits…although something tells me my designs may be a little too conservative for a man with your flair.”

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Noticing the frown that crossed Eddie’s brow, the older man—Cam—quickly tried to ease the situation before Eddie became hostile. “No offense, my good man! It’s just that fashion is my business and I read people by their attire. I can tell that you don’t buy your suits off a rack. It is obvious to me that you have someone design and make them for you.… Am I correct?” Again Cam recognized the almost imperceptible shift in Eddie’s expression. Smiling broadly, Cam displayed his perfectly even, white teeth, confident that he was back on safe ground. Scrutinizing the man, Eddie knew that he was being played.… He just couldn’t figure out why. Smiling disarmingly, he allowed Cam to continue thinking that flattery would knock him off his guard. “Yeah, cat! You’re almost right. I do work with a tailor but the designs are in here.” Eddie gestured, pointing at his head. “You know, man. A true player can’t follow—he has to lead.” “Right-o, mate! I couldn’t have said it any better meself. I like the way you think! Stop by tomorrow.… I ’ave a couple suits that I’m working on. Who knows, maybe you’ll take a liking to my cuts. Either way, I’d like to show you my work in case you’re in the market for a new tailor—your designs, of course! You’ll be amazed at what I can do with a suit.” “I’ll drop by when I get a minute,” Eddie replied nonchalantly, not wanting to let on that his interest again had been piqued. He wondered how a Negro Brit had ended up on Adams Boulevard in the players’ cove. This cat was as British as they came. “Solid, mate. Look for the Fournier and Son sign. See you when I see you, but don’t wait too long.” Smiling, Cam waved and walked out of the store. As Eddie returned to his apartment, a brick highrise on the

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corner of Western Avenue and Adams Boulevard, he made a mental note to stop by the studio. A few days later, plagued by his curiosity, Eddie took a drive to Cam’s shop. Tentative at first, he had no idea what to expect. The Fairfax area was primarily composed of Jewish-owned businesses, and it was the last place that he would have gone to have a suit made. As he pulled his Caddy to the curb, he couldn’t help but be a little impressed by the black awning with gold lettering: “Fournier & Son, A Haberdashery.” Eddie had not even remotely expected to find anyplace this upscale belonging to a Negro. Ringing the bell, he waited, expecting Cam to answer. To his surprise, an attractive woman in her thirties greeted him as though she had been expecting him. Introducing himself, he inquired whether Cam was available. Smiling warmly, the woman motioned to the waiting area. “Have a seat, Mr. Daniels. I’ll see if he’s in the darkroom.” Looking around the reception area, Eddie was more than a little stirred by the framed photos that adorned the walls. He noticed that there was something haunting about them—it seemed as though the images were shrouded by a shadow, although each feature was startlingly clear. Entranced by the photographs, he did not hear the receptionist approach. “Mr. Daniels?” Jumping in spite of himself, he looked up at the woman, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Yeah?” “Sorry to startle you, but Mr. Fournier wants you to join him in the studio. He’s in the middle of a shoot.” Turning back toward the hallway, she led Eddie back to a large, loftlike room draped from end to end with white and beige gauze. Eddie was amazed; he had never seen anything like this. It felt like he was walking into a cocoon. Stopping short, he searched for a spot to stand and watch the action taking place

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in the studio. Cam stood in the center of the room, positioning two male models with a female counterpart. Acknowledging Eddie with a nod, he gestured toward an assistant, pointing to the bar with champagne flutes and a bottle of champagne being chilled. Cam had three assistants; one was a tailor and his apprentice. The third, a Caucasian female, seemed to be Cam’s personal assistant. It was to her that Cam motioned. Again, Eddie was impressed. Cam had to be a high roller—not only to have this setup, but also to be surrounded by both white and black employees. He had seen Negro wealth, but never like this. “Hello, I’m Cyndi.” Cam’s assistant introduced herself, surprising Eddie with her thick German accent and a warm, confident smile. She extended her hand to Eddie, shaking his firmly. “Care for a glass of champagne?” She escorted him to the bar and handed him a crystal flute; his eyebrows rose appreciatively as she poured him a glass of chilled Dom Perignon. “Welcome, mate, I’m glad you could make it!” Cam, still engrossed with his models, spoke to him from across the room. “Take a seat, I’ll be right over.” “Yeah, man.… I told you I’d make it by.” Eddie studied the group admiringly as they surrounded Cam. It was obvious he was completely engrossed in finding the best pose for the models. Even when he spoke to Eddie, his eyes never stopped moving from one model to the other, assessing their positions and moving them slightly, never once breaking his concentration. Upon closer inspection Eddie realized that the female model wore a man’s suit. Eddie sipped his champagne silently, observing as Cam moved about the room, changing positions, surveying the models. Taking the opportunity to study the group, he couldn’t help but think that maybe Cam was the biggest player he had ever met. The last thing he’d expected to find was this type of setup

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or the four beautiful women who had just entered the room to assist Cam. Efficiently, they moved behind him, silently straightening, pinning and repinning the suits each time he repositioned the models. As though reading his mind, Cam stated, “You caught me at a good time, mate. What do you know about photography?” “Nothing, man.… But I can tell you I like the photos on the wall in the reception area.” Shifting his gaze from the models for the first time, Cam turned his attention to Eddie. Regarding him silently, then turning back to the models, he asked, “What do you think about the suits.… How do you think they look?” Eddie redirected his gaze to the models. “Are they yours? I mean, your work?”” “I know what you mean. Yes, they are my designs. What are your thoughts, chap?” “They’re cool…not my style…but they’re cool,” Eddie replied noncommittally, thinking that the styles wouldn’t make it on the streets. “Would you wear them?” Cam prodded. “Nah, man. Like I said, not my style.… But they’re cool. I just do things differently.” “Nicely put.… Now tell me, what would you do?” Cam inquired relentlessly, unable to conceal the glint of curiosity in his eye. Studying the suits worn by the models, Eddie described the changes he’d make, starting with the collar and lapels. Listening intently, Cam reached over and picked up a stick of tailor’s chalk, extending it in Eddie’s direction. “Show me— just make your marks on the fabric, my assistants will follow and do the rest.” Taking the chalk, Eddie approached the models and, one by one, with the help of Cam’s assistants, he used the tailor’s

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chalk to mark his changes. As Eddie marked up the suits Cam began readying his camera and adjusting the studio lights strategically to emphasize the chalk marks and pins. Standing back, Eddie surveyed his work, wishing the transformation could be immediate. To his surprise, Cam began to dance around the models, snapping shots of the women as they marked and pinned the suits. The room became charged with a different type of energy. The hands caressing the fabric were caught on film and Eddie stood back, silently absorbing this commotion, feeling a sense of satisfaction in having played a role. He had used the chalk to mark the classic tweed, houndstooth and bankers’ pinstripe suits, suitable only for Wall Street, to be cutting edge for any player from New York to L.A. Cam took what seemed to be a hundred shots from as many angles. Half an hour later the shutter of the camera clicked a final time and he called it quits. As if forgetting everyone else in the room, Cam turned and walked to a door marked “Darkroom—Keep Out.” Without comment he entered the darkroom, closing the door with an audible click. Just as quickly, the charge of energy seemed to leave, the motion in the room changed as if by some unseen signal. Taking their cue, the models began changing into their street clothes, making small talk amongst themselves, understanding that their role was complete. Not accustomed to being dismissed, Eddie had to wrestle with himself not to feel offended; after all, he had only dropped by. Putting down the champagne glass, he left the studio the same way he had entered. Opening the door to get into his Cadillac, he heard his name being called. Turning around expectantly, he was surprised to see one of the girls who’d assisted him with fitting the models running toward him, waving a pen and paper.

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“I’m so glad I caught you before you drove away!” she stated breathlessly. Eddie placed her West Indian accent. “I’m Ruby.… Cam asked that I get your address so he can send you a copy of the photos.” “Ruby, huh? A rare gem.” Taking the pen and paper, he jotted down his address at the Western Arms apartments. Glancing down at her as he handed the paper back, he noted how she tried to suppress the flush that rose in her cheeks. Taking the paper, she read the address. “Nice place,” she flirted cautiously. “Yeah, it’s an all right crib for a single cat.” Eddie eyed the woman appreciatively, noting how her flawlessly smooth, café au lait complexion complemented her appealingly curvaceous frame. “You live around there?” “No. Wish I did, though. I just pass by on my way home.” “Cool! So now that you have the address, you can stop by this evening on your way home.” This time Ruby was unable to suppress the blush that rouged her cheeks. The slight woman folded the paper over in her hands. “I’ll see you around eight, then.” “Solid, baby. I’ll tell the doorman to let you right up.” Getting behind the wheel, he started the car and pulled away from the curb; turning the volume up, he put in an eight-track of the Four Tops singing his favorite song, “Can’t Help Myself.” Driving home, Eddie replayed the last couple of hours in his mind, grudgingly admitting that he had enjoyed himself more then he would have thought possible. He definitely hadn’t expected to enjoy himself so much that he would regret leaving. Typically, new places had a claustrophobic effect on him, and he’d often make excuses to leave.

Chapter 9

In the years that followed, Eddie would often replay the afternoon spent at Cam’s studio and the partnership that had developed following his visit to the Fournier & Son Haberdashery. Sitting on the terrace of his Hollywood Hills home overlooking the L.A. skyline, Eddie replaced the phone on the receiver; checking his watch, he noted the time. He still had a few hours to kill before he’d have to start getting dressed for the evening’s festivities. Oh well. … May as well try and relax, he thought, reclining on the chaise lounge, gazing at the azure water in the pool, and recalling the chain of events that had set the wheels in motion for tonight, when he would finally come face to face with his sister Delia. To think it all happened as a result of his picking up a screen tabloid at a liquor store almost three years ago. He would have never believed a casual conversation between strangers would have ultimately led the two

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men to form a partnership. Now his new position of influence had opened the door for him to have contact with Delia, who was considered Hollywood royalty. Tonight he was going to a party thrown in honor of the release of her latest film. Getting up, he went to the poolside bar and refilled his glass with a shot of Jack Daniels and returned to his seat. Once again he let his thoughts wander, allowing himself the luxury of relaxing and reminiscing. He had been in pursuit of this reunion for a long time now. He calmly anticipated the party that evening—finally, he would see his sister. Hours later he skillfully maneuvered the Jaguar convertible through the throng of cars lined up trying to get to Chasen’s, a posh restaurant in Beverly Hills. Coming to a stop at valet parking, he stepped out onto the red carpet and was immediately surrounded by the paparazzi as his date, Pia Napoli, an Italian actress, joined him. Eddie and Pia made a striking couple; both exotic and elegantly beautiful, they were as sleek as the car they’d arrived in. Eddie wore his shoulder-length hair combed straight back, with his long sideburns and thick mustache bringing to mind a rogue pirate. Even his tuxedo could not soften the rough-hewn edges that added to his prowess, making him so sexually attractive. Pia perfectly complemented Eddie: Her raven hair matched his, as did her smoky dark eyes and full lips. She also wore a tuxedo, although Pia’s jacket was worn without a shirt—just a bow tie and plenty of cleavage. Pia was a favorite of the Hollywood paparazzi, as the newest Italian sex kitten to land in America. Cameras flashed away while Pia played up to them by reaching seductively inside Eddie’s tuxedo jacket, pulling out his cigarette case. Shrugging charmingly, he parted his lips in acceptance as she made a show of lighting the cigarette for him. Inhaling deeply, Eddie took Pia’s hand and moved into the crowd with the confident assurance of a

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man accustomed to the finer things that life has to offer. As they mingled, Eddie observed the parade of guests entering the restaurant. Fascinated by the crowd, he was reminded of the aviary at the Hermann Park Zoo in Houston; it had been his favorite place to go as a child. He recalled his amazement at the variety of birds and their assortment of plumes, feathers, colors, heights and wingspans. But what had amazed him most was that in all their variety of appearance, in effect, they were all the same. They all had beaks, wings and beady eyes. Tonight he watched many interesting birds of various breeds, and on occasion he spotted several birds of prey that would not hesitate to eat their own species. As he moved through the throng of guests he overheard one of them exclaim, “Oh, my—the star is here,” sarcasm dripping like venom from a snake’s fangs. Turning his attention toward the sound of flashing bulbs from the paparazzi, he watched as Delia made her entrance. Eddie couldn’t help but be proud of his oldest sister. She was stunning! Delia was a star in every sense of the word, from head to toe, the epitome of mod. A hush came over the room as she made her entrance in a floor-length white mink vest covering a silver lamé dress with mink-trimmed, bell-shaped sleeves. She was the Vogue image of the changing elegance of the sixties. Strolling into the room with a feline grace, she turned her head neither left nor right; pausing at the entrance, she smiled lovingly at the press while the flash from the cameras eerily lit the room. Eddie observed her as the press took pictures and Bobby Goodwin, her husband—a has-been producer—sulked behind her. He obviously was angered at being asked to step aside on more than one occasion by the press. Enjoying this opportunity, Eddie scrutinized the pair intently, looking to see if any real happiness existed. Without being aware of the motivation behind his actions, Eddie always sought verification

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of unhappiness, thereby supporting his continued aloofness and avoidance of relationships. Studying the couple closely, he believed that although Delia and Bobby entered holding hands, the intimacy was staged, not natural. Smirking, he felt pity for the man who’d married Delia—even now, she could not disguise her predatory nature as she moved through the room with feline grace, like a lioness stalking its prey. Although as a child she’d always had a soft spot for Eddie, if memory served him well, she’d barely tolerated the rest of the family, always treating them with cool disdain and indifference. Somehow Eddie never made the connection between the similarities that both he and Delia shared as siblings. Instead, as most people do, he considered the weaknesses of those around him and never his own. He also noticed that since they’d made their entrance Delia had never once spoken to her husband, treating him like a stage prop. It was as though she was a ship, alone, afloat in familiar water. Delia sauntered in, her eyes sparkling with pleasure and the calm assurance of stardom and adoration. Amid the applause and enthusiasm for the star from her admirers and colleagues, she looked at everyone and no one in particular, gracing them in total with the sweeping brilliance of her smile as she headed to her table. Eddie’s gaze moved from Delia to the occupants of the table. No one stood out, nor were any overtures made by the seated women that would indicate a friendship. There was only one person who seemed to have any importance at the table, and judging from his demeanor, he was probably a studio bigwig. From Eddie’s knowledge of body language, he could tell that the man with the toadish appearance was completely repulsive to Delia. He was unable to miss how she stiffened and became tense when the man grabbed her hand, kissing her fingers in a way he assumed was supposed to be both gallant and sensuous. Eddie

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thought that if the man knew anything about women, he should be able to tell he had repulsed Delia and not enticed her. As he scrutinized the pair closely, it dawned on him that the man knew his effect on her and enjoyed her repulsion— and from his leering expression, he knew there was nothing she could do about it. Accepting a flute of champagne from a waiter, Eddie waited and watched once Delia took her seat. He knew it would now be just a matter of time before he was spotted. Feeling a tug on his arm he turned to find Pia glaring at him and pouting. Smiling absently, he kissed her on the forehead and pulled her close to him. “You got nothing to worry about, baby.… Just checkin’ out your competition.” Feeling her body relax imperceptibly, Eddie smiled to himself; he knew Pia well enough to know that she didn’t buy his attempt to placate her. He could almost hear the wheels in her mind turning. Pia was almost everything that Eddie liked in a woman: a sassy seductress, confident of herself. Best of all, her world didn’t revolve around Eddie but rotated in its own orbit. They’d met almost a year and a half ago, when she first came to Hollywood and her agent brought her along to the studio to pick up several suits. After meeting Eddie, she suggested that he design the suits for a role she would play as a woman posing as a man. The studio agreed, and Fournier & Son’s reputation for design grew to encompass suits for women. Their designs ultimately won them an Oscar nomination for costume design. From the moment she met him, Pia had her eye on Eddie and used her considerable charm and talents to win his attention. Although she knew she had not yet won his heart, she believed it was only a matter of time. Eddie reminded her of the men she’d grown up with in Italy. They typically formed an appreciation of women much like wine connoisseurs develop appre-

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ciation of fine wines, understanding and even anticipating the differences in textures, tastes and body. Much like the taste of the grape was defined by the soil in which it had been planted, so it was with the woman. Unfortunately for Pia, she had failed to understand that while on occasion Eddie enjoyed a good chardonnay, his preference was the rich dark taste of pinot noir. It was his first taste of sweetness and would forever remain and hold him enthralled—not of one grape in particular, but of a harvest of dark grapes that he had tasted and that reminded him of his roots. He had been planted in the same rich, fertile soil and raised on the same grapevine, sowed by the seeds of former slaves and grown in the soil of promise. For this his soul unknowingly yearned.… This yearning Pia could never understand or fulfill. Tonight she intended to tell Eddie the news she’d kept to herself, waiting until it was confirmed: that they would have an addition, a bambino, in about six months. Pia had planned carefully and would let nothing stand in the way. But now as Eddie stood with his eyes riveted to Delia, she felt the creeping fear of loss and irrational jealousy. Pia had never hated anyone as much as she hated Delia right now. Even as Eddie tried to assuage her fear, she could not help but feel threatened by this cool blonde whom all America and even Europe loved. It never even remotely occurred to Pia that she was looking at siblings. Across the room, sipping her champagne, Delia tried to gather her wits as she studied the star-studded room. She had absolutely no intention of spending her evening with this table of losers. Even though she was seated among the industry power brokers, experience had taught her that a degree of familiarity could often be mistaken after one too many flutes of Dom Perignon. Glancing around the room, she

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took a sip, stood up, excused herself and headed for her costar Grant Guthrie’s table. As she approached Grant, she saw he was deeply involved in a conversation with a man whose back was turned toward her. Moving purposefully toward the small group, which included her competition, Pia Napoli, Delia could have cared less. Right now she was intent on meeting Grant’s friend, who from all appearances even with his back turned seemed like just the kind of man that she could pass the night with. Especially if Pia had him—that would make victory that much sweeter to her. Mmmm, I must be losing my touch, Delia thought, negotiating her way through a throng of admirers toward Grant. She was accustomed to any newcomers waiting in attendance to be introduced to her. Holding out his hand in acknowledgment, Grant gestured toward Delia to join him. To her surprise and fascination, the rogue—who had to be either Italiano or a Spainard, from the color of his jet hair and aristocratic bearing—pulled the newest Sophia Loren knock-off close to him in a warm embrace, never even turning to acknowledge the arrival of the star. Completely intrigued but determined not to show it, Delia put on the full star act. Blowing kisses and coyly accepting compliments on her appearance, she threw her arms back expansively, hugging Grant tightly, whispering seductively in his ear as though it had been years and not days since they had last parted company. Taking hold of Delia’s shoulders, Grant looked at her, perplexed; although he had enjoyed the romance while they were filming, they both knew it was over once the film was finished. Meeting her eyes, he realized that this display had nothing to do with him. Smiling knowingly, he said, “Dee Dee, meet the most talented designer I’ve had the pleasure of working with.” Allowing Grant to make the introductions, Delia turned boldly to face the man that had caught

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and held her attention. Looking up expectantly, she was unprepared for the familiar face that met her. Delia’s eyes filled with fear as she tried to hold back the rising bile of panic that washed over her. Although many years had passed, Delia immediately recognized the piercing black eyes of her brother, Eddie. Watching Delia’s response, Eddie made no move to calm her fear; instead he stood without even extending his hand, for fear she’d jump out of her skin. Studying her reaction, he smiled knowingly at her inability to control her response. From her startled glance of recognition and fear, he knew that she thought he had come to expose her. “Oh, forgive my bad manners, darling,” Grant offered. “This fellow is none other than the mysterious Eduardo Fournier, and of course you know Pia Napoli…” “Ah yes, Pia and Eduardo?” Delia hoped they would not hear the quiver in her voice betraying her emotional state. Pia nodded her head in greeting, pretending her English was too weak, although she spoke perfect English. Now Pia was really upset, barely able to hold her anger in check as she watched the drama play out between Eddie and Delia, both trying to pretend they had never met. But Pia saw through the charade; Delia looked as though she had seen a ghost. Perhaps she and Eddie had been having an affair all along. That would certainly explain their presence at this party. Eddie had insisted they attend this party despite the fact that he shied away from attending any of the many Hollywood parties she was invited to. She’d told him she preferred not to go to this one because of her intense dislike for Delia, and she changed her mind and joined him only after he indicated that he would go alone. Now she stood face to face with the woman she hated most in the world. Delia and Pia’s history had begun on a

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previous encounter in Rome, when she was just starting out and pursuing a role in a movie starring Delia. All had been decided and contracts signed before Delia arrived in Rome; but after her arrival, everything changed once she was introduced to Pia as her costar. Delia would not have it, and insisted that the film did not require Pia’s role. Within a week Pia’s rising star had fallen, all because of Delia’s vanity. Not long after, Pia was offered a role in Hollywood and the rest was history. Now their paths had crossed again; but this time Pia believed she had the advantage. After all, regardless of what nasty assignation had transpired between Eddie and Delia, he had, after all, insisted on bringing her, Pia. Returning to the present, she smiled brightly and placed her hand possessively over Eddie’s as she listened to Grant in his false gaiety continue with the introductions. “You remember, you wore his tuxedo for the Vogue cover! I must tell you, Ed—you don’t mind if I call you Ed, do you?” “Make it Eddie,” he said, meeting Delia’s eyes. “Okay, Eddie it is.… Well, the wardrobe assistant inadvertently chose the tuxedo for Delia to wear on the shoot. Once Delia tried it on, she had to have it. Before I could protest it had been redesigned for her!” Surprise registered on Delia’s face, now for a different reason. Locking eyes, Eddie bowed regally. “So it is you I have to thank for putting the name ‘Fournier and Son’ on the cover of Vogue?” he replied, hoping to help her regain her composure. “Guilty as charged.” Delia almost croaked out her reply as she tried not to let on how nervous she was. “Fournier and Son? Eduardo? It is a, uh, er—pleasure to make your acquaintance…” “The pleasure is all mine. And it’s Eddie.… Eduardo is too formal, don’t you agree?” Not waiting on a reply, he

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nodded politely. “Who knows, maybe we’ll do another cover someday. It was a pleasure meeting you!” Noting her discomfort, Eddie excused himself to escort Pia to their table. “Same here,” Delia said. “Eddie! Keep me in mind for Oscar night—I have first dibs!” Grant called out after him. After Pia was seated, Eddie left to mingle with the guests at the party, giving her an opportunity to collect herself. Intuitively, he knew that if he had stayed a moment longer both Delia and Pia would have started to come apart at the seams. For the remainder of the evening Delia gave a wide berth to both Eddie and Pia, who seemed to never leave his side until the party was going full throttle. Then Eddie saw firsthand why his sister was considered such a good actress. As Eddie mingled, Delia brushed past him, stumbling slightly; instinctively he and several others reached out to give her assistance. One of the three was Delia’s husband, caught off guard and irritated that she would drink enough to stumble. Glaring irritably at the other men he responded, “I got her, boys.… Hands off.” Calmly, Delia placed her hand on Bobby’s; placating, she urged, “Bobby, relax.” Slurring her words drunkenly she said, “They were only trying to save me the embarrassment of falling since you couldn’t.… I just want to sit down for a few moments…too much champagne.” Noticing the flush of red rising from his collar, Delia knew she had succeeded in angering and embarrassing Bobby. True to form, he turned to yell at one of the waiters. “Don’t just stand there, go get Miss McKenzie a glass of cold water!” he said, needing to regain his diminishing status. “Oh, Bobby, be a dear, get your Dee Dee some water.… Why, after the way you yelled at the poor boy, he may take it out on me and spit in my glass.”

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Mortified at her response, Bobby turned beet-red and hurried off. This twit has embarrassed me enough for one night and I’ll be damned if I’ll hang around and allow her to further humiliate me in front of the hired help. After all, I would still be considered a top producer if my wifey had allowed me to produce even one of her films, he thought angrily, heading purposefully toward the opposite end of the room, his mouth tightly clenched. Delia is not the only game in town.… I might surprise everyone and connect with the Italian kitten for her next big release. This is the last straw with Delia…at least for this evening. Bobby intended to enjoy himself in his own separate endeavor, and he spotted just the one that would do. Dismissing Delia entirely from his mind, Bobby headed toward a beautiful lad who had caught his attention, intent on his pursuit of self-gratification. Bobby’s angry departure was the opportunity Eddie had waited for; nonchalantly he strolled over to Delia, peering around the room dispassionately. “Long time, no see. Or should I say, you’re the last person I expected to see here,” Delia remarked, studying Eddie closely. “Thought it was about time, Red. Thought maybe you believed that story of being orphaned by struggling immigrants. I forget.… What’s the descent?” “Wrong approach, Eddie. I expected more from you. You were always so smooth. And Red.… Surely you can do better than that. It didn’t fit when we were kids.” “Oh, it fits, Odele—I just thought you could use a reminder.” “No, sweetheart, I need no reminders. Some things I prefer to forget. You’ve turned into a handsome man, Eddie…no surprise there, though! Even if I must admit I was initially a little let down when I made my way through a crowded room

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to come face to face with my own brother,” she stated derisively. “Carrie passed on some good genes.” Delia spoke to him as if it had been days and not years since they’d last seen one another. “How long have you been here—L.A. I mean?” She toyed with the diamond cuff on her wrist and tried to appear nonchalant. “A while. I moved here after our sister’s funeral.” Flinching almost imperceptibly, she said, “What took you so long to find me? Can’t say I’m invisible!” Her voice trailed as she surveyed the room. “Not invisible—just impossible to see the star up close. Might hurt my eyes.” He was surprised at the bitterness he felt. He had never expressed his hurt at Delia’s departure and forced exile. “You’re right.… It might hurt your eyes, but not for the reasons you think.” Something about Delia had changed more dramatically than even Eddie had suspected. He sensed an almost impenetrable melancholy. “Anyway, I’m tired of this lion’s den.” She gestured toward the room. “Need a little fix-me-up.… You wanna come? I don’t mind sharing.” Eddie’s stomach filled with lead as he realized what it was about her that was so different. His oldest sister was strung out on cocaine. “Naw, baby, I pass.… Why don’t you come by my place and we’ll catch up on old times?” For Eddie the tables had not just turned—they had flipped and he was under them. He held his breath, waiting for her reply, wondering if he was too late to save her. In all the time he had imagined her in some sort of danger he’d never imagined she would be dangerous to herself. Lost in thought, he glanced down to find Delia studying him closely.

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“Little brother, you may be worldly in some ways but you are still naive to the ways of the world. No, it’s too late to catch up.… You and I have to keep on going. Disappointed with the star? Don’t be. I got enough disappointment for both of us…hell, for the whole room.” Eddie bent down, placing his mouth next to Delia’s ear. “No such thing, babygirl…ain’t nothing but a thang. Can’t scare or disappoint the monster killer.… Remember?” Recalling a past she had tried to forget, Delia’s eyes welled with tears and her throat burned. “These monsters are invincible and deadly.” “Can’t be, baby. Got a number? Here comes Pia, so I won’t be able to visit long.” “No number.… I keep a place in North Hollywood at the corner of Sunset and Larabee Way. Be there tomorrow at six…apartment 420. By the way, leave Eduardo at home. I only want to see my little brother, Eddie Daniels.” Rising from her seat like a queen from her throne Delia glided past Pia and away from Eddie to disappear into the arms of her admirers on the dance floor. Passing through the crowded dance floor skillfully, Delia danced away from her admirers, exiting through a side door and into her waiting limousine. Without a second thought for her husband, she instructed the driver to take her home; Bobby would have to find his own way. Right now she needed time to think and clear her head—after all, her brother was here and she had to think of a way to keep him close! She felt reconnected to a source that had once fed her life like an anchor to her past; it represented both good and bad. Delia had turned her back once out of necessity, as far as she was concerned—both then and now. Her parents’ problems had been just that: their problem. But now her dilemma was different; at seventeen she had felt smothered by her mother. In Delia’s eyes her mother was the

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reason her father had a stroke and eventually lost his congregation and their pampered lifestyle. At the time, her younger sister, Sofia, had been tireless in her desire to emulate Delia and to know every move she made. Sofia needed constant attention and nurturing, something Delia was not capable of giving. Finally, there was Ana, a mongrel, mousy and nondescript, a disgrace and embarrassment to the family—and part of Delia’s desire to leave. However, Eddie was a different matter altogether; she had always loved him. He was the only person she’d truly missed; though of course, she’d been saddened by Sofia’s senseless murder. Even more, her heart went out to Sofia’s child, Angel, who had been orphaned. But even in the midst of her pain after hearing the horrific news, Delia still could not make herself known for fear of someone seeping the information out to the news. So she failed to acknowledge her sister’s death, choosing to ignore her like she had done in life. Now, with Eddie’s return, she had no desire to turn away from him again. But the reality of her life was anything but simple; she no longer had the option to disappear or switch reels. It was the 1960s and things were changing in America, but it wasn’t a change she could take advantage of. More than her reputation or career would be in jeopardy if the truth about her were discovered. Somehow she had to convince Eddie to be patient; she was tired and wanted to just disappear—but Delia McKenzie was at the height of her career and had an expensive habit to support. Closing her eyes, she filled her nostrils with the scent of the coca plant. Reclining against the headrest, she inserted the eight-track tape of her sister Ana, Le Fonce Fille in Paris, and allowed the flood of memories since her arrival in Los Angeles to fill her mind.

DELIA

Chapter 10

A short time after arriving in Los Angeles Delia captured the hearts and imagination of America. She was the poor orphan who had realized the American dream despite the odds. Discovered in the 1950s in her late teens, Delia was turning down starring roles by the time she was twenty-five as well as trying to put several much-publicized affairs with her leading men behind her. In Los Angeles, she encountered the same reality of many would-be stars: it was almost impossible in those days to just be discovered without putting time in on your back. And if you were Negro, your chances at getting a role other than in a position of subservience were almost null and void. Delia had absolutely no intention of playing mammy roles or of struggling, like Lena Horne and Dorothy Dandridge, just to be offered parts that were beneath her in the end. She decided

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she would use acting as a vehicle to find a wealthy suitor— or husband, if she was lucky. One afternoon at a casting call, she as usual joined the group of Negro extras; taking a seat she waited to be called or told to leave. To her surprise, the casting assistant stopped what she was doing and walked purposefully over to Delia. Smiling at the middle-aged woman because she thought she’d been selected, she was completely caught off guard when the woman whispered, “Hon, you’re sitting in the wrong area— this area is for the Negroes. Whites are just around the corner.… Follow me and I’ll show you.” Glancing around to see if any of the other Negroes reacted to her being singled out, she was amazed she didn’t receive any accusatory looks that would indicate they thought her to be deliberately trying to separate herself. As Delia followed the woman around the corner to the reception area for whites, she made a life-altering decision: she would take the easier path by following in the footsteps of her mother’s siblings. Delia decided to pass as a white woman. Although she did not get cast as an extra that day, her transformation led her to several walk-ons and a deodorant commercial. The bit parts did not pay enough to make ends meet, so she took a job as a receptionist for Bobby Goodwin, a well-known producer for Phantom Studios. For months she worked hard and did her best, constantly ignoring the advances of coworkers. As luck would have it, a script rewrite for Bobby’s new film was mistakenly given to Delia instead of his production assistant. Deciding against returning the script via the normal delivery channels, she took a chance and delivered it to Bobby Goodwin on the set where filming was taking place. Waiting patiently for a break in filming, she was shocked when the star, Kittie Kurtis, stormed off the set, angrily cursing the director. Hesitating, momentarily uncertain of how to proceed, she waited

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for the cast to be dismissed and the air to settle when she heard the gopher complaining about the schedule interruption. Watching Bobby, she waited patiently for the right moment after his entourage departed before she approached to give him the rewrite. Immediately Delia began to explain how she had mistakenly been given the script. Eyeing her skeptically, Bobby sighed heavily, holding out his hand to accept the script. “Thanks…” Dismissing her, he took the script, tucking it under his arm and turned to walk away. Taking a calculated gamble, Delia knew she had to say something so at the very least he’d recognize her the next time they met. “If I ever get the chance to stand before the camera I’ll take a solemn vow and promise not to stomp off because of the angle!” she stated earnestly to no one in particular, continuing her monologue. “Heaven forbid that I would poison everyone around me with my vanity as punishment for being in my presence!” “Well, that’s a mouthful!” Laughing at her, Bobby felt his spirits lift despite the debacle that had just occurred. Feigning surprise, she smiled candidly. “No, it’s the truth,” she stated earnestly, delighted at her adeptness in maneuvering the outcome of this unexpected opportunity. Delia knew that she had caught Bobby’s eye on several occasions, and she had been looking for an opportunity to speak to him directly—playing the overeager ingenue had been a sure bet. “Someday I’ll have a chance at working in film and get off the commercial merry-go-round.” Not one to pass up such an obvious opening, especially with a beautiful young woman, Bobby used an age-old approach: inviting her to dinner to discuss the role and perhaps a possible audition. Agreeing readily to dinner, she gave him the address to her apartment on Larabee Way off of Sunset Boulevard.

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As Delia waited for the bus to take her to the small apartment, she hoped that it would be just a matter of time before she could give her landlord the keys back and move on to bigger and better things. Strolling up the pathway to her apartment, Delia was reminded of its shabbiness. Passing through the weed-strewn courtyard she was concerned about Bobby’s reaction when he came to pick her up. Intent on making a good impression to compensate for the shabbiness of her surroundings, she mentally reviewed her options for evening wear. Delia dressed with premeditated deliberateness, having been raised wearing the finest department-store clothing and accessories. Although her financial circumstances had changed, her breeding had not. Delia had saved her money and shopped the clearance racks at Bonwit Teller on Wilshire Boulevard and Loehmann’s on Third, buying past-season designer dresses, gowns and shoes. For more than a year she had collected an impeccable wardrobe. Finally, she decided on a strapless bronze cocktail dress with matching bronze peau de soie shoes and clutch; staring in the mirror, she admired the results, knowing the effect was complete. She looked like a tigress. Her hazel-colored eyes with gold flecks and blond hair accentuated her pale skin; the contrast was compelling, her hair and eyes matched perfectly. Tonight she intended to make a lasting impression on Bobby Goodwin no matter what it took. She was glad that she’d unburdened herself of her virginity before leaving Texas. Keeping a lookout for Bobby, she intended on walking out to meet him before he could approach the door. She had no intention of inviting him in. At seven-thirty she saw him standing in the center of the courtyard, looking around in obvious frustration. Grabbing her purse and wrap, she exited the apartment. As far as Delia was concerned, she didn’t care if she never saw this place again. Bobby glanced up at her approach.

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“You forgot to give me the apartment number!” he stated accusingly, obviously frustrated. “I know…but you see, I found you!” She smiled, disarming him with her response. Still unable to hide his irritation, it took him a moment to notice how startlingly beautiful she was. It was the combination of her beauty and her candidly carefree attitude that had caught his attention earlier in the day. Bobby had become jaded by the many overly ambitious women obvious in their willingness to go to any lengths for recognition. Now, as she walked slightly ahead of him, seemingly amused by his frustration, he observed her regal carriage and flawless features. She was not beautiful in the cookie-cutter way of most would-be Hollywood starlets; in fact, it was the uncommon individual features that collectively made a beautiful, exotic countenance. Studying her closely, Bobby reconsidered the possibility of putting her in front of a camera. By the time they reached the restaurant, he was sold. Instead of pulling up to valet at the Brown Derby for dinner as planned, he turned the car around and headed back to Phantom Studios to the set, where he knew his crew would be wrapping up from what had turned out to be an unproductive day of filming. He was not quite ready to let her know his plans. “I forgot something at the set. Do ya mind stopping for a moment? Then we can go back to the restaurant,” he stated matter-offactly, easing the car around and heading in the direction of the studio. “I don’t mind…but what about the reservations?” Delia asked, eyeing Bobby uncertainly. She had heard enough stories about the producer’s couch to not be completely naive. “No problem, beautiful. I’m a regular. Max will hold my table.… Anyway, this’ll only take a few minutes.”

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Bobby drove the Bentley through the gates of Phantom, accustomed to access. Once they arrived on the back lot he pulled into the space marked with his name. After scrutinizing Delia, he decided that, with her looks, if she could act even a little he could overcome the debacle that had taken place earlier that day and that had almost canceled the financing for his latest film. Kittie Kurtis, Hollywood’s sex kitten of the hour, had stormed off the set for the last time that afternoon in a snit over a camera angle. Fed up, the director, Dennis Vitali, called Bobby and threatened to walk off if filming stopped again because of her. After spending almost an hour on the phone with the lawyers, Bobby called Dennis and advised him they had received the go-ahead to recast. Of course they would be way off production schedule, but the script was too good to pass up. Stupid Kittie, he thought. This role could really have made her a bona fide star. Now, sitting next to this sultry temptress, his outlook had changed. “Sit tight.… I’ll be right back.” Delia relaxed imperceptibly, glad he had kept his word as she watched him walking hurriedly toward the set. Delia studied Bobby’s gait as he walked away; he was young and handsome, unlike most producers. He was in his mid-thirties, and it was rumored that he came from a wealthy East Coast family. By his own admission he was the black sheep of a family that largely bred politicians and preferred the Hamptons to Hollywood. Many men and women from diverse backgrounds and breeding had been drawn to the Neverland called Hollywood, hoping like Peter Pan never to grow up and definitely never to grow old. The fact that he was never seen with the same date twice was cause for speculation that he was an irascible playboy, unable or unwilling to make a com-

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mitment. There was much discussion among fledgling actresses and models as to who the lucky woman would be who would finally win the heart of Bobby Goodwin. Delia intended to answer the speculation by becoming both an actress and his wife. She was more than ready to return to the standard of living that she was accustomed to, or better. She wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass her by. What Bobby didn’t know and would never have been able to comprehend was that Delia had been studying him like he was a new species for quite some time, watching and waiting for the right moment. She had identified his vulnerabilities and had already begun to decide how to exploit them. Momentarily lost in her reverie, she was startled by Bobby as he opened the passenger door, motioning for her to follow him. Disconcerted by this sudden change in plans, Delia asked, “What’s going on? I thought you said it’d only take a minute.” “You’re right, I was wrong. It’ll take a few minutes.… But hey, I got a surprise for you!” Eyeing him suspiciously, she said, “What type of surprise?” “I want you to read for me.” Bobby turned back and placed the script in her hands in an off-handed manner. “Okay—uh, I mean great! When?” “Right now. You are an aspiring actress, aren’t you?” He turned toward her, eyeing her appraisingly. “It’ll only take a few minutes, I just want to see you on camera and hear how you sound. Then the Brown Derby it is!” Not believing her ears, Delia followed Bobby, trying to squelch the nervous fluttering in her stomach. Walking onto the set, she surreptitiously tried to take in her surroundings in hopes that it would give her a feel for the role. “Denny, this is the ingenue I’ve just described to you. Delia McKenzie, meet Denny Vitali, the director.”

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Although her stomach was filled with butterflies, she knew this might well be her first and last opportunity if she didn’t take advantage of it. Turning to meet Denny’s eyes, Delia was stricken by an animal magnetism so raw and unexpected that she could only nod as an acknowledgment of their introduction. The intensity of the moment did not pass Denny, who immediately became aware of the gold band on his left ring finger as he felt himself willing it to dissolve. “Delia, we just want to hear you read the lines that are marked,” Bobby instructed her, interrupting her thoughts and completely unaware of the magnetism igniting the air. “Don’t be nervous, just look into the camera. We’re not as interested in your acting, at this point, as we are in how you look and sound on camera.” “I’m not nervous.… Just give me the setup so I’ll know what I’m supposed to do,” she responded, her eyes locked on the wedding band that Denny wore. “Well, in this scene Katrina finds out that her lover was not killed in France. She enters the room expecting to be reunited with a man whose loss she has mourned for ten years. When she walks into the room, he is seated with his wife.” As Bobby began to set the scene she stopped being Delia and became Katrina. “I’m ready,” she stated a few moments later. To Bobby and Denny’s surprise Delia laid the script down on the table and walked onto the set. The camera captured the look of a woman who believes in miracles and is eager to reunite with her true love. Looking directly at her lost love, she does not immediately consider the other woman and the infant until his eyes meet hers.… Her steps become heavy, her body tenses and her throat constricts with tears. She shifts and approaches the wife. “I am Katrina.…You must be Eric’s wife?” As the scene played out, the two men exchanged surprised

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glances—both knew they had stumbled on a star. Delia had completely transformed and become someone else right before their eyes; they were hooked. For the first time in his career Bobby was spellbound. The evening had not turned out like he’d expected. He’d been prepared for the normal wine and dine, ultimately ending the evening in his bed if he felt so motivated. Instead, the woman he’d picked up earlier that evening had, for all intents and purposes, metamorphosed into the character in the script. This was a new and unexpected aphrodisiac for Bobby; Hollywood had given him a jaded response to traditional male-female relationships. Lately it had become almost impossible for him to consummate a traditional heterosexual union. He’d begun to associate with a group of influential industry moguls with varied, exotic sexual appetites, created and led by an unlikely leader—a German who seemed able to tap into the most unique perversions imaginable. Bobby went to great lengths to cover his tracks, insuring he was frequently seen at the Brown Derby or Perrino’s in the company of a beautiful woman. Now, as Delia walked off the set and toward both Denny and Bobby, each man was making plans for her future. “Well, Bobby, I think you should cancel whatever plans you have with Miss McKenzie this evening.” Denny was the first to speak; he had already decided she would be Katrina and he had no intention of allowing Bobby to mess things up by coming on to the leading lady. “Why so?” Bobby was startled by Denny’s lack of propriety. As the producer, it was up to him to have the final say. “Isn’t it obvious? You need to contact legal and get contracts drawn so she can be ready to start filming by Monday.” “Today is Thursday, so tonight we’re going to celebrate— and she’ll see you on the set Monday. Goodnight, Denny!” Delia left with Bobby, looking forward to filming next

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week and to being in close proximity to Denny. She could not believe that this was all happening so quickly. As they left the set and returned to his car, Bobby leaned over, kissing Delia firmly on the mouth. Caught off guard, she pushed him away. “Is this part of the audition?” “Why, uh, no. I was just excited for you.” Bobby was not about to be chastised; in fact, he was peeved at her audacity. “What’s wrong? You don’t like men?” Instinctively, an inner alarm rang at the question. In her experience, when a man asked a woman that question, it typically was his way of deflecting issues with his own sexuality. Quickly, she decided to take a calculated risk. “I like them. D’ya know where I can find one?” For a moment Bobby stared at her with pure hatred. “Prying bitch—who ya been talking to?” “You!” Delia replied with false bravado; she had gone too far and would have to play it out now. In Texas, her best friend had been a homosexual—or gay, as he preferred to be called. They would frequently date because it was safe for them both. She had never met anyone in her circle whom she had an interest in, and Don, her friend, was the son of a judge, and everyone had their sights set on him as a prize catch. He was not only extremely handsome, but smart as well. He had remained in touch with her for several months after she ran away from Houston. Judging from the letters she received, he planned on going to law school after college, fulfilling his father’s wishes. She recalled how frustrating it was for him not to be able to just be himself. He used to say his life was his disguise, and she knew that it would continue to be so, as long as Don lived his life trying to fulfill his family’s expectations for his life. It was Don who had unburdened her of her virginity, as a mutual favor. He could honestly say that

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he had been with a woman and she didn’t have the burden of inexperience. They’d been free to explore minus the expectations that typically came with the fulfillment of lust or the commitment of love. Returning to the present, she saw the fear and accusatory flash in Bobby’s eyes. “What do you mean, ‘you’ve been talking to me’?” he demanded angrily. “If I’m wrong about you…then I hope you’ll accept my apology. I typically read people well. Anyway, I didn’t mean anything negative—it’s your business one way or the other. I just thought I’d take the pressure off of you and let you know we can be just friends. I actually make a great front—uh, friend.” Eyeing her skeptically, Bobby didn’t know what to make of this woman. How dare she insinuate he was less than a man! He was probably right in his assessment: She probably didn’t like men, in which case they could both relax. What a novel idea, he thought; this night had worked out better than he would have believed possible. “Sweetie, I can show you what a man I am, so the next time you meet one you won’t have to ask!” “Darling, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said dramatically, making him smile in spite of himself. She would allow him to prove himself, believing that once they slept together it would take the pressure off. Putting the car in gear, the pair made their way to the Brown Derby. That evening Bobby decided to make Delia into a household name by introducing her to a member of his elite group: one of the top agents in Hollywood, Aaron Ziegler. Within days Delia had signed with Aaron, and soon thereafter he negotiated a multi-movie deal with Phantom Studios, making her rich beyond her dreams almost overnight.

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*** To celebrate Delia’s newfound success, Bobby made reservations at Chasen’s Beverly Hills—there was nothing too good for Delia. Having been patient until her contract was final, Bobby took her home to his Bel Air mansion, filled with anticipation at fulfilling his promise to show her what a man he was. To his surprise, Delia was so intoxicated by his power and wealth that she responded to his overtures in ways he had not imagined. He had finally found his mate; she tapped into his psyche, exploring his fantasies. Bobby was determined to have Delia as his wife. Not only did she satisfy him on levels he had not guessed, he also had the vision to see that her star would soon outshine his. To Delia’s later angst, she’d had limited vision. Bobby had been able to see the handwriting on the wall—she, on the other hand, had not. A month after filming ended, Bobby proposed and Delia accepted, comfortable with the charade. She thought her marriage to Bobby would level the playing field between her and Denny Vitali, who, despite her demands, refused to leave his wife. Bobby would serve as leverage, although she found him tedious at times with his need for adoration and gratitude for her instantaneous stardom. Anyway, she wanted the status of being a top film producer’s wife. The press of every major news and fashion publication covered the wedding of Bobby Goodwin and Delia McKenzie; they were Hollywood’s newest golden couple. For a while this arrangement worked well for both of them— until Delia’s star skyrocketed as Bobby’s plummeted. Reveling in the newly attained power that accompanies fame and fortune, Bobby was soon to learn that one of Delia’s greatest defects was her brief memory when it came to gratitude. Her haughtiness increasingly wore at his nerves until he despised her, causing him to long for the day that she would

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need him again. As his wife, she mocked him each time he attempted to exercise his conjugal rights. At first he dismissed it, assuming that she was tired and overworked from her arduous schedule—that is, until rumors about Delia indulging her varied sexual appetites began to surface. After her attempts to get Denny Vitali had failed, Delia had embarked on an odyssey of sexual exploration. With no particular sexual preference, she was uninhibited and enjoyed tasting a variety of fruits. Learning of her dalliances and the orgies he had not been invited to participate in, Bobby was humiliated by the embarrassment of being publicly cuckolded. To ease his humiliation, he began using cocaine. Delia was the one person who should always be indebted to him. Intent upon vengeance, he finally got an opportunity when she accepted his invitation to take a few hits with him. Much as he’d hoped, she began to crave the drug like a flower craves the sun. Her habit began to soar out of control, as did the rumors that followed on the heels of her addiction. In an effort to help her straighten herself out, Denny offered her the lead role filming in Europe. Before Bobby could interfere, she flew to Italy to film an epic and remained for several years in a much-publicized affair with Denny Vitali. She was back on top, vibrant and clean. Now Delia was back with a vengeance—and an expensive, hundred-dollar-a-day coke habit. She had returned to the States and her habit after learning that Denny had not left his wife for her. Angry and disillusioned, she intended to make many changes, and the first thing on her list was to rid herself of her leech of a husband, Bobby. She sighed in disgust. It pissed her off that he had not already filed for divorce while she was in Italy. Like a bad habit, he remained, insisting on continuing the sham that should have never begun. Delia also had reluctantly returned to the States to

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fulfill her contractual obligations to Phantom before the studio sued her. The party tonight was supposed to be the kickoff promotion of her last three films, and of all the people she had to come full circle and run into—it was her brother, Eddie.

EDDIE

Chapter 11

Lighting a Camel cigarette, Eddie took a deep drag and turned up the music in the Jag, listening to the Temptations singing “Ain’t Too Proud To Beg” on A.M. 1580, KDAY. Leaving the party, he was filled with mixed emotions after seeing his sister. Spending the night with Pia no longer interested him; he was not in the frame of mind to deal with her sulking mood. He needed to be able to talk to someone who knew his relationship to Delia, and for that he could think of only two people; Pia was not one of them. Swiftly changing directions, Eddie headed to Brentwood to take Pia home. As the car turned onto Crescent Heights Boulevard, Pia realized that she had gone too far. Always controlling the reins, she was accustomed to having a man bend to her will to prevent a confrontation. However, since meeting Eddie, Pia had never been able to gain her balance, much less control.

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His indifference was part of the attraction for her. Being with Eddie was like trying to hold a handful of sand. The tighter your grip the more you lost, but because of its grainy texture you never realized that as you held onto thousands of granules, the sand was slipping through the crevices. It was only when you opened your fist that you found it held only a few specks, which would be impossible to completely remove. Intuitively Pia knew that she had squeezed too tightly that night and that her fist was almost empty. The only grain left was the one she carried. Glancing at him in alarm, she realized he was taking her home. Unable to stop herself, she squeezed the fist even tighter. “Eduardo…where are we going?” “Long night ahead, baby. Got a few more stops to make. You seem a little tired so I’ll drop you off at home.” Tighter she squeezed. “Why don’t we go to your house— I’ll shower and wait up for you?” Although she was trying to sound inviting, the desperation leaked through as she attempted to smooth over the debacle of the evening with a promise of intimacy. “Naw, baby, we’re almost here.… But we’ll get together soon.” “When is soon? I need to talk to you tonight!” “Tonight is not gonna be good, baby” “Why not? Is it because of that bitch? Are you going back to her?” Although she had tried not to let her anger consume her, Pia was threatened to the core and knew only one way to respond—and that was with anger. Pulling into her driveway, Eddie responded with calmness he didn’t feel. “No, it’s because I got a lot on my mind.… Be sweet. I’ll call you later.” Feeling an uncharacteristic sense of desperation, she imagined things were reeling out of control. Tonight had not

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gone anything like she’d expected. “Eddie, don’t leave.… I have to talk to you!” He released an exasperated sigh. “All right, baby, spit it out,” he replied bluntly. “I’m, uh—I mean, we’re gonna have a bambino! A baby!” Pia tried to shield her anxiety with false enthusiasm; she was not accustomed to this cold shift in Eddie’s demeanor. Meeting his eyes, she looked for signs of softening. The corners of Eddie’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “Naw, baby. You said it right the first time. You’re having a baby. I’m not the kinda cat you can play like that. That game is old.… But I tell you, the next one you try to run it on, my advice is tighten it up a little.” “What are you saying.… What means this ‘run game’? I am a pregnant by you!” “How do you know it’s mine—how could you be certain?” Eddie replied, calmly aloof, almost conversationally eyeing her sarcastically. “It is your child, Eddie. I love you.… There has been no one else,” Pia replied pitifully, knowing from his response that she would never be able to convince him. “You know, I thought you were a better actress. If you’re pregnant, Pia…you better hope it’s not my child. If it is you may have gotten more than you bargained for.” Eddie got out of the car and opened the door for her. Although he knew Delia intimidated Pia, the fact that he had brought Pia with him tonight, as his date, should have assuaged her fears and settled any concerns. Their relationship had been built on their mutual need for freedom—now this declaration of her love and revelation of an impending child resulted in his cementing his decision to put distance between them. Judging from her response, Eddie realized Pia was trying to manipulate him. Now the game she’d played

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had played her right out of his life. Eddie knew instinctively that he could not bear a child; he had been with numbers of women and of them all, Pia was the only one to ever make this declaration. Although he knew she dug him, he’d also heard rumors of an affair she’d been having with Denny Vitali to get back at Delia. Eddie also knew that Denny already had children by his wife. As she exited the car, Eddie leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips, offhandedly stating, “Later.” Despondently getting out of the car, she looked past him, her fists empty; she was too exhausted to dust off the specks. Briskly walking up the steps to her porch, Pia stepped over the threshold and went into the house without a backward glance, regretting the day she’d ever laid eyes on Eduardo Fournier. Checking his watch, Eddie put the car into gear, realizing it was too late to call or stop by his younger sister Ana’s home, knowing it would only cause even more problems in her already troubled marriage. There was only one other person Eddie could talk to now; so he headed toward Cam’s home. Maneuvering the Jag through the winding roads that led to Cam’s house, Eddie purposely tried to stop replaying the events of the evening or anticipating his meeting the following day with his sister. He knew Cam was the one person who would be objective and lend some insight on where to find help for his sister. The first thing he had to do was get her cleaned up and off cocaine; he didn’t allow himself to think beyond the immediacy of Delia’s plight. As he turned in the circular drive, the Japanese-inspired architecture of the home never failed to impress him. Almost as soon as he reached the door it was opened by Cam. “I kept a lookout for you, mate. Thought perhaps you might stop over for a brandy?” “Yeah, man…you read it right. I had to talk to somebody

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about this.” Eddie followed Cam through the tropical entryway to the den, marveling at the soothing effect of the waterfall and understanding why Cam adamantly refused to move from View Park although he could afford to live anywhere. Taking a seat, he described Delia’s reaction and the outcome of the evening. Settling into the leather recliner across from Eddie, Cam swirled his brandy, in deep thought as he listened to Eddie’s plight. Over the years Eddie’s relationship with Cam had developed beyond a business partnership to a kinship. They had grown close enough to share the wounds often customary only to those who have traveled the same path. Over a year ago Eddie had confided his relationship with Delia and his desire to see her again. Outside of his immediate family Cam was the only person who would understand his need to talk about the events of the evening.

Chapter 12

Although they had begun as business partners, their friendship had grown, encompassing the relationship associated with the name “Fournier & Son.” The relationship between the men superseded friendship, transcending to one that is paternal in nature. Eddie and Cam developed a lucrative partnership as Fournier & Son; what once had been a dream now skyrocketed and became reality. Even now, Eddie could recall the initial exhilaration he’d felt after changing the conservative suits simply by marking them with chalk. It was like spraypainting graffiti over a classic oil painting on canvas and creating another masterpiece. When Eddie and Cam first met, he had been impressed by Cam’s layout, having never heard of anyone other then Sears & Roebuck that tailored clothes and then photographed them. After leaving the studio on his first visit, Eddie wondered how

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the chalk-marked suits had turned out. The following evening, as he dressed to hit the streets, the doorbell rang, startling him out of his reverie. Who in the hell can it be? he wondered, making a mental note to talk to the doorman. Opening the door, he was startled to see Cam grinning brightly, holding out a large brown envelope. “Sorry to pop over unannounced, mate, but I had to be here to see your face when you check these out.” Stepping past Eddie, he ignored the younger man’s apparent irritation at the unannounced visit. Instead, Cam strode purposefully into the apartment as though he’d been invited and spread the photos of the suits after they’d been altered on the coffee table. Taking a step back, he invited Eddie to move closer to examine the photographs. The photos of the altered suits captured and held Eddie’s attention. Glancing up at Cam, he recognized the suit the man was wearing as the pinstripe banker’s cut that he’d marked with tailor’s chalk. “Your threads are sharp, cat.… Yeah, man, these are good,” he exclaimed, studying the outcome of the suits in the picture. “Whatcha gonna do with them?” “Blimey, mate, that’s why I’m here. I’ve a proposition for you. Do you mind if I sit down and explain?” “Nah, man. Make yourself comfortable!” Eddie responded, somewhat perplexed, wondering what type of proposition Cam had in mind that would include him. As Cam described his idea, Eddie sat in awed silence, not able to believe his proposition. Cam laid out the slickest hustle he had ever heard of and to top it off it was legit—just what Eddie was looking for. Cam’s plan was simple. Eddie had two equally strong traits, in his opinion: an eye for clothes instinctively, as a trendsetter, and an unidentifiable ethnicity. He knew that Eddie had designed all of his own suits for years, giving them

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a slick, trendy look, which was exactly what Cam wanted. On the other hand, Cam had an eye for shape and form, using photography as his medium. He was also formally trained as a tailor. Eddie sat in awed silence as Cam revealed that he also owned the clothing warehouse behind the studio and employed twenty-eight people who made hand-sewn suits sold in Europe under the Fournier & Son label. He believed Eddie was the final component for his success formula: to accomplish his goal to be known as a clothier of quality and a trendsetter, Cam needed to establish recognition in the States, which meant he had to remain personally invisible. This had been the biggest thorn in Cam’s side. Cam’s background had trained him in the classic and ultraconservative style of the British. Consequently, he used this knowledge to build a solid company while remaining virtually invisible, using Cyndi as a front. But now he had reached the ceiling of his growth. It was the sixties, and fashion was at its trendiest and constantly changing—no longer was the conservative cut acceptable. For the first time men were dressing according to trend, and fashion-seeking to have more variety in their attire. In more than one way this was where Cam saw a fit with Eddie. Not only did he have a refined sense of style, but also he was a chameleon in appearance. He could be any of a multitude of races, ultimately giving the Fournier & Son label exposure and access as an exotique—something Americans loved. Eddie was brazen in his self-carriage, displaying self-confidence uncommon to a young man of color. Nothing and no one intimidated him. Cam believed that as long as no one knew they were Negro they could be the leaders in creating trendy men’s fashions. According to his plan, he would create an image for Eddie, misleading the public to believe he was almost of royal blood. Cam knew that Americans were fools when it came to

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European ancestry and title. The name Fournier & Son was well known and accepted in Europe, although no one had ever known they had met or spoken to the true Cameroon Fournier. With Eddie’s appearance, he could easily be mistaken as a foreigner. Eddie would become Eduardo Fournier, the son in Fournier & Son. All Cam needed was Eddie’s acceptance and he could put the wheels in motion; Cam knew the players, and getting to them was no problem. Expectantly he awaited Eddie’s reply, trying to appear nonchalant. It occurred to Eddie that Cam was nothing like he’d imagined. In fact, he had to be the most unique person he’d ever met. Eddie had no idea that Cam had been studying him for several months before approaching him. Although Cam had heard of Eddie long before they’d met, in many ways Cam felt like he already knew him. When he first ran into Eddie, Cam didn’t realize who he was until he overheard someone refer to him as “Fast Eddie,” which piqued his curiosity. He asked around, learning that Eddie was indeed from Houston, Texas. From that point on, Cam intentionally frequented the type of hangouts he knew would attract Eddie. Cam made note that whenever he spotted Eddie he was always the sharpest-dressed mate in the group with the most beautiful woman on his arm. In fact, it was Eddie’s unique sense of style and the cut of his suits that had helped Cam concoct this plan in the first place. His instincts had been on track—Eddie had already proven as much by the subtle changes in design that brought life to his well-made but otherwise too conservative suits. Part two of Cam’s plan was to position Eddie in such a way as to make him an icon. “So, mate, whaddaya think? ’Ave we got a deal or not?” Cam purposely thickened his British accent until it was almost cockney. “Yeah, man! We got a deal.… When do we start?”

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“Our first step is to photograph you in the line of suits and shirts that you design and I make. Then we mail the photos to anyone of note…beginning in Hollywood. You know, movie stars and entertainers will be our target market.” Cam promised to make Eddie rich and legit at the same time. Eddie readily accepted, feeling as though things were coming full circle for him. Feeling in a celebratory mood, Eddie went to the bar in the corner of his living room, pouring a double shot of his favorite mash: Jack Daniels Black. Grimacing, Cam accepted, feeling the bite from the liquor and the heat that coursed down his throat, igniting a path through his chest. “Say, mate, next time drinks are on me. Let me introduce you to my madame—Courvoisier!” “Yeah, man.… But when you’re in my crib, JD is what’s happening, you dig?” Although Eddie dug where Cam was coming from, he had no intention of being treated like some country hick just off the hay wagon. Eddie was first and foremost a man. He preferred to set the standard early so there was never room for misinterpretation. Glancing at his watch he said, “Cam! Sorry, cat, but I’ve got to be rolling.… Check me out later, man—I’ll stop by your studio in a couple of days!” Startled at the abrupt change in conversation, Cam started to protest, but just as quickly decided against it. “No problem, mate.… I’ll get back with you instead. What’s the number?” “O-X-5672. Cool.… Call me when you’re ready to move on this.” Getting up, Cam took a long swallow from his drink. “Right-o, chap. I’ll give you a ring by the end of next week.” Picking up the photographs, Cam escorted himself out in much the same way as he had invited himself in.

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Cam breathed a sigh of relief. Eddie had agreed, just as he’d anticipated. Getting in his car, he smiled, unable to suppress his glee; the wheels of progress were turning and Cam wanted only to fuel the engine to increase its speed.

Chapter 13

That had been almost three years ago, and Cam had been true to his word, sending over the documents to form a partnership. Now they were known as Fournier & Son and Eddie went by the name Eduardo Fournier. Within the first year their business had skyrocketed and they’d opened Fournier & Son Clothier in Beverly Hills. With Eddie’s designs, and with Cam’s expertise and his employees working around the clock perfecting the suits that Eddie had marked, they gained notoriety as the hottest name in the fashion world, becoming the newest trendsetters in men’s clothing. Next, an unexpected turn occurred when Delia modeled one of Eddie’s tuxedo jackets, sans pants, for a Vogue magazine cover, creating an unexpected niche for them in women’s fashion. Pia Napoli’s insistence that they design for her resulted in an Oscar nomination for best costume design. As for any speculation about his dubious heritage, it had

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been whispered and accepted that Eduardo was of SpanishFrench descent, explaining away any misconceptions regarding heritage. There was nowhere he wasn’t invited, although he turned down most invitations. Eddie’s loyalty and comfort zone were to his true heritage, with the unexpected exception of Pia, who turned out to be a comfortable front for him. Things had been better than he’d ever imagined—until tonight. He had wanted to be reunited with his sister Delia; however, he was surprised at what he discovered. Now he had to talk to someone about the shell of a woman he’d met at the party earlier. He’d seen enough coke-heads and freaks since moving to L.A. to instantly recognize who and what his sister had become. Although Eddie had always considered her arrogant and conceited, he had never thought she’d become self-destructive. Cam listened closely while Eddie confided his relationship, asking if Delia and Ana were his only sisters, as if for clarification. At the time Eddie was not prepared to discuss the details of the tragedy surrounding Sofia’s murder with Cam, so he replied that he’d had another sister who had passed away. Over the years Cam had become almost like a father figure to Eddie, advising him on investment strategies, teaching him about Europe and helping to create the façade that came with being Eduardo Fournier. In their first year as a team, Eddie made more money than he would have ever dreamed possible. His suits were made from the finest imported wools and silks, sparing no expense. Cam understood that the quality of the fabric made the clothes. Cam insisted that Eddie learn everything about the process of their business, from start to finish. For the first six months Eddie was always exhausted from spending so much time in the factory with Cam. Hustling had not prepared him for the intensity of running a business. But as time passed, he learned

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that there was no substitute for quality and that the process began with the design. Cam would often say to him, “If the process is faulty the product will have the same faults.” Over time, Cam dropped his guard and confided bits and pieces of his background. As Eddie gained a renewed respect for the man, it was the story of Cam’s life that gave Eddie a different perspective on his own.

CAM

Chapter 14

Cam was the last descendant in a line of tailors and shirt makers who’d passed their vocation on from generation to generation. Cam was born in Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany, but his grandfather was from Cameroon, Africa, and was brought to Europe in the late 1800s on a slaver’s ship. After arriving in France, his grandfather was purchased by a French couturier, Francois Renaud Fournier, who taught him the art of hand tailoring. The House of Fournier was a well-respected men’s clothier known throughout most of the western European nations. It was customary for slaves in Europe to take the surnames of their owners as a matter of title. But Cam’s grandfather was adamant in his desire to acknowledge his lineage to Mother Africa. Consequently, he accepted Fournier as the name of his owner, which in turn became his last name—but he called himself Cameroon, as his own personal legacy to pass along to his children.

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In the evenings the elder Cameroon would entertain and fascinate the children with stories about his own childhood in France. He had the ability to paint pictures with words, and his stories about the African villages, deserts and people were favorites of the children and his wife. He made sure that they also learned the history of his parents and their homeland Africa. He spoke highly of the courage of his own father who as a teenager had left his village to hunt as a passage to manhood; and instead was kidnapped and taken to the waiting castles in Senegal to be transported by slave ship to France. Despite the harsh realities of his father’s captivity, he had been both loving and kind, a dedication that Cameroon displayed now to his own family. He would end each story with a promise that one day they would travel to France and visit their grandparents who had finally gained their freedom after years of servitude. Following in the tradition of the French, when his son, Cameroon II, turned thirteen, he sent him away to apprentice as a tailor. By the time the younger Cameroon was eighteen he was ready to return to the House of Fournier to continue in his father’s footsteps and perhaps replace him so his father could finally retire. But the winds of fate blew, and before he could return home he was required to serve in the French armed forces, as were all of the colonized Africans. In the early 1920s his unit was deployed to Rhineland, Germany, where the French—who feared a strong Germany—decided to make a natural border between France and Germany. After completing his tour of duty, Cameroon settled in a small village between Koblenz and the Mosel Valley, the tip of land where the Mosel River joins the Rhine, the world’s busiest shipping river. Cameroon—Cam’s father—opened a small tailor’s shop in the town of Koblenz where, for the first time in his life, he felt the freedom that his father had described as

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a child in Africa. Unlike in France, he moved about freely, enjoying the peaceful surroundings of the sleepy village. Cameroon Fournier II built a reputable business based on the quality of his work and not the color of his skin. He was a quiet, self-contained young man whose goal in life was to live quietly and independently, eventually he married and settled down after falling in love with a young woman of Jewish descent named Berta Rosenblatt-Schaeffer. Berta gave birth to a son with beautiful skin the color of rich chocolate, like his father’s, and green eyes like his mother’s. He was named Cameroon Schaeffer Fournier, and like his father he was trained in the tradition of tailoring and suit making. Five years later, twin daughters Helga and Elga were born; they had fair skin and red hair like their mother, with their father’s brown eyes. The Fourniers were a loving family and lived a quiet, peaceful life. Although well thought of by other residents, they seldom attended the village social events, and because both Cameroon and Berta had different religious beliefs, the family did not attend a church. Instead they had study time for their children to teach them their individual histories and the foundations and worship practices of their Jewish and Muslim heritages. Cameroon and Berta were able to accomplish something the world was yet to understand, let alone embrace: Muslim and Jew, separated by race, language and culture, taught their children to respect and love all people. They taught their children they were products of love, a gift from God. They sought to prepare them for the world as neither black nor white, Muslim nor Jew, simply training them in the business skills required to become respected merchants. Cameroon focused on ensuring that their children had a thorough knowledge and mastery of their trade. They were taught everything from textile origin to the types of

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fabrics, threads, pattern design and the methods of needlework, from beginning to end. They were taught quality above quantity, and pride in their work. Another exception in the Fournier household was that both French and German were spoken, so that the children would always be able to switch easily between both languages. As an older brother, Cameroon III—nicknamed Cam—delighted in his sisters. They looked up to him, making him feel a sense of importance that can be experienced only when you are cherished. The sisters’ favorite pastime was playing hide-andseek with him. Whenever they played, Cam was always puzzled at how Elga always seemed able to hide and never be found until they had given up. He nicknamed her “the magician,” because she seemed to be able to disappear and reappear at will. Even Helga would look about in confusion, wondering where her sister had hidden. But Cam’s favorite pastime was sketching pictures with the chalk from the shop. For hours he would sit and sketch people or scenes; as a treat he would draw an image on cloth for his young sisters to embroider. Unbeknownst to his parents, Cam did not intend to follow in the family tradition and pursue tailoring as a way of life. He would often confide to his sisters that the shop would be theirs to run. Instead, he planned to go to France and live in Paris among the artisans. He was artistic; without confirmation of his talent, instinctively he knew that he had an eye and ability for art. Effortlessly he could sketch whatever he desired, whether it was right before him or only an image in his mind. Whenever he talked of his plans for the future both sisters would become distressed at the thought of being separated from their beloved brother. Joining hands, the two sisters would pray fervently that Cam would marry Magda, their neighbor, thus preventing him from leaving them for France. Little did the girls know that the winds of political

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change were blowing and would play a cruel trick on this close-knit family who lived quietly without the divisions of race and class. It was 1941, the year Cam would always remember as the end of life and the beginning of a living nightmare. Almost overnight the lives of his family and friends changed and their peaceful existence became a mindless, indescribable terror as they heard rumors of Hitler’s obsession with racial purity and the atrocities that were being committed on his mother’s people. This mayhem was taking place because German citizens were outraged at what they perceived as a final insult resulting from the outcome of World War I. Consequently, ninetytwo percent of the citizens voted for Nazism and endorsed the criminally insane leader Adolph Hitler, blindly following in his demented footsteps. As the SS troops drew near the village where the Fourniers made their home, more rumors flew about Hitler’s new target: the “Rhineland bastards.” These were children, like Cam and his sisters, who were of African-German descent—a common pattern in Rhineland because of the number of French Africans like their father, Cameroon. These children of mixed heritage were such an abomination to Hitler that he had special tortures planned for them. Hitler sent the SS Einsatzgruppen, a murder and torture squad that he deployed behind German troops. The Nazi troops were sent to enforce Hitler’s desire to see the world obliterated of anyone not “German,” especially Jews. Cam’s parents planned to escape after Nazis seized their shop. The Fournier & Son sign had been removed and Cameroon had become no more than a slave to the establishment that he had created. Once the troops closed in, he was no longer able to convince himself or Berta of their safety.

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Cameroon began to plan their escape, sending word to his parents that he planned to send Berta and the children to France in an effort to protect his family. Unfortunately, he’d waited too long; the move of the Nazi soldiers to the Rhineland was imminent. The afternoon of their departure, Berta sent Cam to the village for his father—but instead of going directly to the village as he’d promised, Cam ran across the field to see Magda one last time before they left for France. She was pregnant with his child, but because of fear she had not spoken a word of her condition to anyone except Cam. She told him not to worry; because she was pure German, her family would not be harmed unless they knew it was his child that she carried. Shielded by the naiveté of youth, Magda earnestly believed that her life would return to normal before she gave birth. Although Cam was leaving with his family, they both knew she would be safer if they kept their love for each other secret until the threat of the soldiers had passed. Cam was tortured by the thought of being separated from her. After lying together one last time, he re-dressed, promising to return for her before the baby was born. Retracing his steps, he walked alongside the road leading into the village to pick up his father. Upon reaching the village he learned the soldiers had already been there. Overcome by fear, he raced home to warn his mother and sisters of the impending danger. Quickly closing the distance between the village and his home, he realized something was amiss. Noticing the front door ajar, Cam slowed his pace considerably, his body covered in gooseflesh. Changing course, he circled his home, looking for signs of the soldiers. Just as he decided that he was only being paranoid, he saw a soldier appear in the doorway. The mere image of the soldier in his home turned

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his bowels to water; an indescribable horror filled him. The soldier seemed transfixed. His back was turned toward Cam; someone in the cottage diverted the soldier’s attention. Seconds felt like hours as Cam stood frozen with fear, unsure of his next move. The grasp was broken when he heard the strangled pleas of a woman whose voice he distantly recognized as his mother’s. “Halten Sie es bitte auf! Berühren Sie mein Baby das sie ist nur zwölf…den mich…mich nimmt nicht!” Stop it please! Don’t touch my baby she’s only twelve.… Take me… please…just take me! Instantly his fear dissolved as he realized his beloved mother and sisters were in danger. Filled with a murderous rage, without thinking of consequences Cam rushed the soldier at the door, intent on protecting his mother and sisters by sheer force of will. Catching the soldier by surprise, Cam locked his fingers around his neck, pressing inward until he could feel the windpipe crushing. Blinded by fear and adrenaline, he fought madly against two more combat-trained soldiers until he was overtaken by three of the brown-shirted storm troopers. After the soldiers captured Cam they brought him and his mother to their commanding officer, Ernst Roehm, the leader of this Nazi paramilitary wing and widely known as a deviant homosexual—despite paragraph 175, which prohibited homosexuality. Hitler had made it publicly known that as regarded Ernst Roehm, he chose to look the other way. Standing at attention while restraining Cam, the group of soldiers awaited Roehm’s directive. Through bruised and swollen eyes Cam studied the fat, pasty-faced man whose expression seemed to be set with a permanent sneer of contempt. Roehm studied the young man intently. As he finished his perusal a slow, cruel smile turned

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up the corners of his mouth and he licked his lips with a smacking sound, causing the hair to rise on Cam’s head. “Meines, meines.… Sie Jungen haben gefunden mir einen sweetmeat!” My, my.… You boys have found me a sweetmeat! Glad to finally appease their commanding officer, the soldiers watched as the senior soldier pushed Cam forward with gleeful expectation. Roehm reached out with an unexpected gentleness, stopping Cam in his tracks, caressing his face and tracing his lips. To Berta’s horror, the man turned toward her. “Danke.” Thank you. Despite her pleas the soldiers held Cam down while Roehm and his comrades raped him repeatedly. Berta’s mind spun like thread wound too tight around a bobbin, snapping from the tortures that were magnified a hundredfold. Nothing she had experienced could have prepared her for the enormity of the grief she felt at being made to watch and endure the brutal gang-rape of her children, unable to help them or to stop this atrocity. Cam was unable to comprehend the pain that his body was forced to endure. Eventually losing consciousness, he hoped never to awaken. Hours later the indescribable stench of death and painful jolts through his body finally made him awaken from an almost comatose sleep. Trying to adjust his eyes and gain his bearings, he realized he was in the back of a truck. He whispered, “Mother…Elga…Helga…are you all right?” That afternoon was the last time he would ever hear his mother’s voice. He never forgot the cries of his beloved mother, although it took him more than twenty years to believe that she was really dead. He never doubted for a moment the fact that his father had been killed unmercifully—he believed this because of the torture that he, Cam, had suffered. The nightmare of that day would be his first thought each morning and the last thought each night for the rest of his life.

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Cam was taken to Auschwitz, where Roehm elected to keep him with his regiment as entertainment. However, after several weeks they tired of him and he was taken to a holding center in Wiesbaden, where a series of neurological tests were performed on him as though he were no more than a laboratory rat. Despite his travails, Cam was tenacious, holding on to life by a thread; he survived the tests and was eventually released. As a condition for release, anyone classified as a Rhineland bastard had to undergo sterilization; typically this procedure was conducted without the benefit of anesthesia. When Cam entered the sterilization tent, emaciated and near death, the medic inquired to his assistant about him, amused by the erratic tics of the boy. Checking his record, he stated, “This one is one of Roehm’s lapdogs.” At this revelation both men exploded in laughter as though Cam were not there. “Give him his papers and send him on,” laughed the medic. “He’s already been sterilized.… He will never do a woman good!” Again the two men doubled over in a fit of laughter as they motioned to Cam. “Go get your number, boy. Here’s your paper, you’re sterilized.” Timidly, he took the proffered certificate of sterilization; following the soldier, he was then made to suffer the final humiliation of being tattooed with his sterilization number. After he was tattooed the medic stated, “You can go. You’re free.” Free? I will never be free again, he thought. He would always be confined mentally by the torture he had endured and the torture he imagined of his family. “Go! You’re fortunate that Hitler is a just man, only wanting assurance that there won’t be any more race polluting…with you mixed bastards.” As the soldier spoke, Cam focused on the number that branded his arm. It’s not as evident on my brown skin as it

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will be on my mother’s and sisters’ fair skin, he thought, feeling the prick of tears, unable to stop them from falling. Repulsed by the boy’s feminine display, the soldier turned away in disgust. “Get out!” he demanded angrily. “You should be grateful for another chance!” With all his might Cam tried to stand, but the green tattoo on his skin had traumatized him with thoughts he had forbidden. Instead of standing, he slumped over in tears; images of Magda and his family filled his mind.… What good is freedom when there is nowhere that welcomes you? he wondered. So painful was his mourning that crying felt like dying to him. If he had seen his reflection he would have fully expected his tears to be made of blood. His body hemorrhaged pain, draining his spirit and the desire to live from him. Cam never saw the approach of the soldiers and barely felt them as they physically lifted him by the arms, dragging him to the front gates. Once the gates opened he was dropped onto the cobblestone street like a heap of trash. Cam finally escaped Nazi Germany with the clothes on his back and the skills taught to him by his father. It wasn’t until he needed it to survive that he came to appreciate the knowledge of tailoring. The skill that had been passed down to him by his father and grandfather was as much a part of him and his heredity as his features, complexion and eye color. For many years Cam held on to the belief that one day he would be reunited with one or more members of his family. If he had survived, then surely there was the chance that someone else had made it out as well. However, as time passed he continued to be haunted by visions of his family’s torture. Even now he could not clearly recall how he had survived, escaped or kept his sanity. Try as he might, he never learned what

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happened to Magda or her family; he tried not to wonder about the life they had planned together or the child that she carried. It had taken almost fifteen years to learn that instead of being killed the day the Nazis invaded his home, his father had been charged with treason and sent to one of the concentration camps, where he was experimented on and finally killed. No matter how he tried, he could find out nothing about his mother and sisters. Now, at almost forty, Cam’s home was L.A., where he had established a small factory with more than twenty employees manufacturing tailor-made suits, shirts and slacks for an elite group of customers who appreciated the fine handiwork of the Fournier & Son label. Cam’s father had created the label shortly after Cam was born. Now his dream was to take the legacy that he’d inherited and branch out until Fournier & Son became a household name, worn by men throughout the world. With Eddie the dream was becoming reality, and he began to have a sense of family again. Eddie was like the son he’d never had and the man that he’d never become. Unlike his forefathers, Cam would never know the joy of passing his legacy on to his own child, so as time passed he began to think of Eddie as his son. Cam’s attempts at fatherhood had been blighted; his sexual indoctrination had distorted his ability to picture himself fully as a man. Consequently, his wounds were too deep to analyze—pain was pleasure and pleasure was pain. Using his wealth, Cam created a façade that had become his life. In doing so, he joined an elite group of successful men who had survived the atrocities of war partially whole. For years he enjoyed wealth and travel, in that order, continuing to search for his family while attempting to make peace with the hate that filled his

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heart. Cam had been fueled by hate all of his adult life; but instead of defeating him, it had motivated him to overcome any obstacle. Escaping Germany, Cam never made it to Paris as planned; instead he ended up in England, working at the shop of Sir Cyril Weathersby, one of the tailors to the royals. Upon his arrival in London, he overheard several gentlemen discussing the finest haberdashery in Great Britain. Making his way to the shop, he entered, seeking employment. To his dismay, the tailor’s assistant was not interested in hearing about Cam’s lineage or experience. He turned a deaf ear on the younger man, whose eyes frightened him for reasons he could not explain. Disappointed at being confronted with snobbishness and arrogance, Cam was not to be deterred. He showed up at the shop daily, offering to soap the windows, wash down the walk and any other menial task that he was instructed to do. Before long, the shop’s assistant, Aaron, came to rely on the young man. One afternoon while Cam was waxing the display window, the assistant made excuses to work close by, studying Cam as he went about his chores. Aaron’s curiosity grew as the young man unfailingly showed up each day and worked hard for a few pence. Hypnotized by the movement of his arm waxing the window, Aaron felt the blood drain from his face when Cam’s arm rose, revealing the numbers tattooed on his wrist. His face contorted in anguish, he approached Cam on wooden legs; grasping him by the arm with his long, delicate fingers, he turned Cam’s wrist toward him for a better look to make sure his eyes had not deceived him. “You are a hard worker, aren’t you, lad?” He asked the question not wanting or needing an answer; he was simply filling the void. Pulling his arm away gently, Cam never broke his stroke; instead he continued polishing the glass in a steady circular motion.

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Gathering his wits, Aaron looked away, slightly embarrassed. “Well, chap, today’s your lucky day.… I’ve decided to tell Cyril Weathersby—that’s the owner, ye know? Well, I’m going to tell him I’ve hired you as the shop caretaker!” Stopping in mid-motion, for the first time Cam looked directly at the man who had treated him so rudely. “Danke…uh, er, thanks,” he responded with his thick German accent, meeting Aaron’s eyes for the first time. Hesitating a moment, Cam returned to polishing the glass. Aaron again froze, shaken for the second time by this young man. Over the past few weeks he had avoided looking at the teen because of the unsettling color of his eyes, focusing only on his tattered clothing and dark skin. It wasn’t until Cam paused to respond that he realized the boy’s features were undeniably Jewish; even the color of his eyes was the same as that of his own mother’s. Aaron’s heart softened with a new understanding of this lad and the reason for his seemingly impenetrable melancholy; Aaron had also lost family members without any hope of tracing them. His parents had decreed that they would never give up hope or stop looking for their loved ones lost in Nazi Germany, and he was reminded almost daily of the plight of his brothers, who were still living under the Nazi regime. Shaking himself from his reverie, he said, “As a matter of fact…follow me so I can show you your quarters and get you something to eat.” Nodding, Cam felt his eyes fill with tears at this unexpected blessing. He’d hoped only for food or lodging; he had not expected to receive both.

Chapter 15

From that afternoon Cam worked as the shop caretaker with a single-minded dedication: to save his meager wages in hopes of fulfilling his dream of becoming an artist and living in France. The only luxury he allowed himself was purchasing charcoals, chalk and paper for his sketches. In the evening after the shop was closed Cam would sit in the storefront and sketch the mannequins in their suits, making adjustments in cut that were distinctly his own. One evening as he was lost in his art, Sir Weathersby, the owner, cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence and startled Cam out of his reverie. Fearful of being reprimanded or, worse still, losing his position at the shop, Cam quickly closed his sketchbook. To his amazement the man politely asked to see his drawings. Slowly studying each sketch line for line, he looked back at Cam. “Who taught you this? The cut of the suit…who?”

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“My father,” Cam replied. “He was French.… His last name is Fournier.” Now it was Sir Weathersby’s turn to be impressed. “Ah, I know the name well, but I never knew he had fathered a son…but what else? It seems Aaron and I have been ignorant and overlooked your true talent. No wonder your sketches are so perfect—you are the son of Fournier. Tomorrow I will have you start as my apprentice!” Startled by the offer, Cam accepted; that evening he put his dream of artistry on the back burner. Cyril and Aaron took Cam under their wing; he still diligently performed the chores of caretaker during the day and each evening he would work with the men as an apprentice, much like his own father had done. As time passed it became evident to both men that the softspoken young man instinctively knew the techniques of tailoring a suit, the way a carpenter instinctively knows which wood is the best for his design. Something else was also happening between the men. Cyril and Aaron had been devoted lovers for many years, but now each man felt drawn for different reasons to this young man. Cam wrongly assumed this was a condition for his continued employment. Consequently, he spent time with each man; in exchange, they took care of him handsomely. Over time Cam believed that this would be a life choice, naively accepting that somehow he had changed visibly since he had been raped, giving him no other choice than to lead life as a homosexual. Cyril spent countless hours with Cam helping him to shed his German accent. He taught him the King’s English and how to speak as a proper Brit. Aaron showed him how to dress like the bluebloods. Cam took note, listening, learning and applying all he was taught. Since Germany, the only color he wore was black as a statement of his ceaseless mourning for

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the loss of his family. At the time both Aaron and Cyril expected him to discard the notion of always wearing black, and nodded sympathetically, assuming that eventually he would heal and move beyond his desire to always appear in mourning. Cyril and Aaron became Cam’s family; the two men loved him deeply and were concerned about his future. The three lived harmoniously for almost ten years, until Cyril died in his sleep. Falling to pieces, Aaron insisted that Cam leave Britain for America with him to start a new life. To Cam’s surprise he had been made one of Cyril’s beneficiaries; both men were given a tidy sum of money. Closing shop, they left Britain for America, settling in Los Angeles and embarking on different paths.

Chapter 16

Cam and Aaron remained in contact but were not close in the way they had been in England. Eventually the relationship between the two men became strained as they were both affected by a new brand of racism. In America the culture dictated that black and white maintain the strict doctrine of segregation. Aaron and Cam parted ways, developing separate careers and social lives although they still maintained communication. Aaron was drawn to Hollywood; using his charm and skill at negotiations, he became a much sought-after agent, rivaling the legendary Swifty Lamar. On the other hand, Cam was a chameleon, moving between cultures and social classes and using his impeccable bearing and uniqueness to attract whatever he desired. Cam no longer was the naive and softspoken lad; he had become a cunning and often heartless businessman. Reversing the system that had been imposed upon him, his nature became predatory—if he sensed

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weakness, he would exploit it. Nothing pleased him more than being in control. That was, until he experienced the unimaginable and fell in love. Falling in love again was the last emotion Cam expected to feel. But once his guard dropped he would have done anything for her. He was her protector and would have given his own life for hers. Even, had he been given the opportunity, raising her child as his own, something her own family had failed to do. They’d met shortly after she’d married his neighbor, a prominent Negro surgeon. Initially he’d see her in passing, never really paying her much attention. Cam’s idea of a good neighbor was one who waved on occasion, maintained his property and minded his own business. Most days he’d leave home early and return late at night, never learning the rhythms of the neighborhood. One morning while dressing to leave he noticed the woman standing on the patio near the foliage surrounding her pool. Not what he would have expected of a housewife, she wore a two-piece swimsuit with a fishnet cover-up and mules. Unable to hear through the paned windows, he could tell by the way her body swayed that she was moving in concert to music. It was 1961, and Cam was intrigued by her lack of propriety—after all, no respectable housewife would be dressed like a sex kitten. As he paused in his dressing to study her, it was the first time he had really looked at her other than to wave in passing. To his surprise, she was stunning! Her eyes were deep set, and she had lustrous, wavy chestnut hair, full, sensuous lips and a lavish bosom. She exuded sexuality. For moments Cam stood completely still, stunned by his immediate physical reaction to her—he was becoming aroused. Uncomfortable at the complexity of his body’s unexpected betrayal, he quickly

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finished dressing. Turning to glance out the window one last time before leaving, again he felt drawn to her. Without warning she turned around and stared up at the window as though she knew he stood there watching her. Stepping away from the window, he grabbed his coat and keys, eager to put distance between this woman who attracted him by her essence more than any other person ever had, even Magda. Climbing into his new convertible Corvette, he put on his driving gloves, leaned back into the leather seat and reversed the car out of the garage. Dressed in his usual black, he placed his tam on his head, put on his tinted lenses and shifted the gear into drive. Checking his rearview mirror before releasing the clutch, he noticed her standing at the hedges that separated their homes, waving at him. Quickly nodding his head, he made a show of adjusting his mirror, determined to ignore her. To both his surprise and chagrin, she refused to be ignored and ran waving down her driveway until she gained his attention. Smiling and breathless, she waited for him to stop his car. Running to the passenger side, she leaned over, extending her hand. “Hey there.… I thought if I didn’t chase you down, you’d just keep ignoring me! Since we’re neighbors and all I just wanted to tell y’all hi!” Cam’s heart pounded so loudly he thought his eardrums would explode. Feeling guilty, he expected her to accuse him of spying on her, which in fact would have been true. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a deep breath. “Uh, er, ’ello” Stunned by his English accent, she said, “You’re a foreigner? I, uh, never met a Negro foreigner before! Where are you from?” she inquired impetuously. Caught off guard by her brash honesty, Cam replied, unable to hide the smile that threatened to split his face. “England…I’m from London, England. The name’s Cameroon Fournier, my lady—what’s yours?”

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“Sofia.… My name’s Sofia Anerson.” “A unique name for an American.” He could not believe his own ears. As he gunned the engine their eyes met and locked. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Anerson.” “A pleasure to meet you also, Mr. Fournier.… maybe we can have coffee one day.” “Sorry, I don’t drink coffee. Remember, I’m a Brit!” Again unable to suppress a smile, Cam slowly released the clutch as she stepped away from the car. “Well, then, I’ll make a spot of tea and we can chat!” she shouted back to him, smiling almost mischievously. Pausing at the end of his drive, he chuckled. “Madame, again I implore you.… I’m a Brit and as a rule we are some rather boring chaps—I’m afraid I’d bore you to tears.” Standing in his driveway, she laughed a deep, full laugh and waved at him as though she were seeing him off and would be there upon his return. What a pleasant surprise, he thought; this woman was nothing like he’d expected. For the remainder of the day Cam felt lighthearted, smiling to himself from time to time as he thought about his encounter earlier that morning. He hadn’t remembered feeling this lighthearted since childhood. The following day Cam watched Sofia from the large windows of his home, enjoying the solace of solitude. He was an enthusiastic voyeur. He looked forward to each morning standing at the windows with a single-minded compulsion to watch her as she walked her daughter to school. He often wondered what they discussed that caused them to be so animated. They talked like old and dear friends, at first walking hand in hand, their heads close together; then, unexpectedly, mother or daughter would throw her head back in an unladylike manner and erupt in a fit of laughter. During these moments Cam would unwittingly smile along with

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them, almost holding his breath as he tried to imagine the conversation that flowed effortlessly from mother to daughter. He admired the closeness of their relationship and the obvious love and affection one had for the other. Each morning Sofia was casually but immaculately attired in clam-diggers or deck pants, worn with a camp shirt and espadrilles or Keds sneakers. Her daughter was always fittingly dressed for school, with pigtails tied by ribbons and her jumper perfectly pressed with appliqués that matched her socks and Mary Janes. Cam would watch admiringly until they disappeared from view, and then he’d hurry to his kitchen and put on the percolator to make a pot of coffee. He would gauge the time of her return by the time it took the clear ball on top of the coffee pot to stop its rhythmic dance of water moving through the metal basket, filling the air with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. At times he would consider taking her up on her offer and inviting her to stop in for coffee, but he’d stop each time and question himself. Why is she so determined to befriend me? he wondered. After all, she was the wife of Dr. Julius Anerson, a prominent surgeon. Perhaps she was curious and had come by to check out her odd neighbor. He was certain that among the Negro upper class there was speculation about him, especially since he was unmarried and never had anyone visiting his home.

Chapter 17

A s the days turned into months, Cam changed his schedule so that he rarely if ever was at home during school hours. He believed he’d been successful in resolving the sense of displacement he felt in her presence. Still, his desire to see her plagued him; so he resumed his place in the window to watch her. To his alarm he noticed a change in her that was disquieting. There was a marked difference in the rapport between mother and daughter as they walked to and from school. The life seemed to have departed from them; standing at his window, he watched her walking back home shrouded in melancholy. It was almost as if her body returned home each morning and her soul remained at school with her child. One morning while Cam stood sipping his coffee and staring out the window, he was shocked when Sofia appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, on the inlaid stone pathway

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leading to his front door. Cringing, he noticed that she was not fastidiously attired as was her usual way. In fact, she looked as though she had just stepped from her bed and walked out barefoot with only a long, kimono-type robe to cover her. Maybe she overslept and the nanny is taking her daughter to school, he thought. As her finger pressed the doorbell Cam felt the chime vibrate; his mind raced as he tried to figure out why she was at his door. Perhaps she’s locked out, he thought, until he noticed her husband’s car swiftly turning out of their driveway and her daughter in the passenger seat. It was obvious that the child was upset and had been crying. Standing at the front door he listened as she rang the bell three times in succession. Taking a deep breath, Cam placed his hand on the cool brass of the knob. Before he could turn the knob Sofia began knocking insistently. “I know you’re there…listening…watching.… Please open the door!” Feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck, Cam had an uncontrollable urge to flee as he struggled between embarrassment and insult. Deciding on the latter, he adjusted the tie of his silk robe and opened the door. “Madame?” he inquired superciliously. “May I help you?” His dark face flushed with indignation. Gaping in stunned silence, Sofia recoiled slightly, a pained expression on her face. “May I come in…please?” she asked with a look of mute appeal, sensing that he may not budge. “Uh, I am not proper, Madame…and, er, neither are you, it seems. I’m uh, er—certain your husband wouldn’t like you visiting me in a state of undress.” Sofia’s gaze fell from Cam’s face to something in the distance behind him. My God, she doesn’t have the decency to be embarrassed, he thought, watching her features change, until he saw an expression he too easily recognized.

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Sofia’s eyes filled with fear and brimmed with unshed tears at the thought of being turned away. “I won’t bother you, I just need to rest for a minute.… I can’t go back there right now.… Please, may I just sit?” Disarmed by her plea, he was too familiar with the emotions that fear conjured. Putting all attempts at pretense aside, he took a step backward and bowed slightly as an invitation. “Of course, forgive my rudeness. I say, I am carrying on like an American.… Watch your step,” he said, leading the way. Sofia followed as he led her through the house to an open Japanese garden situated in the center of his home. They crossed a bridge filled with Japanese koi to a bench surrounded by Japanese maples and bonsai, with overstuffed cushions placed strategically in a semicircle. Cam leaned over to help Sofia be seated on the cushion, noticing the grimace of pain cross her face as she sat down. “Is the seat too low for you to get comfortable?” “No, I’m okay,” she replied shakily. “Well, I don’t mind bringing you a more comfortable seat if this was too low…that’s all.” “Mmmm, comfort is overrated. I’ll take safety.” “Why should you have to choose?” he asked, feeling his anxiety rise as he anticipated her response. “Because of this.” Sofia stood gingerly; turning around, she released the tie from the kimono worn over her swimsuit. Cam’s stomach sunk at the raised bloody welts that marked her lower back, buttocks and thighs. These welts and bruises were deep enough to only have been administered by a razor strap. “Why is your daughter with him?” “He took her to school. She is fine…for now. I’ve learned to keep him away.… He would never hurt her.” Casting her eyes down, she finished. “At least not like this.” Cam tried to rise but felt his knees give way; he was barely

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able to suppress the rage he felt growing. For several minutes the room seemed to spin in its own orbit as he recalled images of his past and the enormity of her revelation. Suddenly he began rocking himself, seeking peace, trying to block his reaction to violence. Anger and frustration filled him; he tried to contain his response by clenching and unclenching his fist. He lost the battle and his fists convulsed compulsively with rage. Recognizing the signs of degradation that had been forced upon her, Cam was reminded of the terror and torture that had been visited upon him and the women in his family when he was young and defenseless. In his mind’s eye he envisioned the mindless horror, hearing the maniacal guttural screams of pain.… Staring ahead almost catatonically, he fought to keep his mind from escaping behind the trapdoor again. Stunned by his reaction, Sofia temporarily forgot her wounds; placing her hands on his to relax his fists helped to deflect her own pain. Somehow she sensed that Cam had wounds that were much more pronounced than hers. Meeting his eyes, she saw a pain that rivaled and surpassed her own. In her eyes, he saw tenderness that had been missing for far too long. Her fingers moved of their own accord to smooth his brow. Reaching out to him, Sofia held Cam, assuring him that everything would be all right. In her arms he was returned to his mother.… In her arms he was no longer alone.… In her arms the trapdoor swung open and he felt the sweet breeze of release and sniffed the air of freedom. With his head against her breast he inhaled the sweetness of life and found the strength to heal, the courage to protect… Like well-rehearsed dancers who have choreographed their moves, they reversed positions. The flow of movement was liquid and the transition complete; he now held her and it was his turn to soothe. Cam was unaware that he had returned to

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speaking in his native German. Sofia lay her head against his smooth, dark, chocolate skin, seeking the warmth of human contact that didn’t result in pain or degradation. She listened to his promises, understanding his words through her spirit. “Es ist okay, meines liebes…” It is okay, my dear.… “Sie wird schützen.” I will protect you. “Dem Ein je Ihnen wieder schaden wird.” No one will ever harm you again. “Shhh…shhhh…Nicht kann sein alle die Sie brauchen aber ich kann Ihren Schmerz aufhalten, als Sie meinen aufgehalten haben.” I cannot be all you need but I can stop your pain, as you have stopped mine. “Das war es unsere Seelen zu einander haben geweint, bevor wir einen Ton gehört haben!” That was it—our souls cried to each other before we heard a sound! Gently returning her to the cushion, Cam rose to his feet and, extending his hand, helped her stand. Holding her hand gently he led the way to the master bath. Placing a towel across the marble bench next to the Roman bath, he motioned for Sofia to lie down and rest. Seeing to her comfort, he ran her bath, periodically testing the water to make sure it was tepid to the touch so it would not burn her skin. Pouring bath salts made from rosemary, he attempted to speak around the lump that seemed to block his voice. “It is an old German remedy that will ease your pain and take the sting from the welts.” After her bath was prepared he returned to her side and carefully helped her to undress, slowly, taking care to remove the cloth that stuck like a scab to the wounds. Helping her down the steps into the tub, Cam unceremoniously discarded his pants, sliding into the pool-like tub beside her. Taking a soft sponge he methodically cleansed her wounds, knowingly massaging pressure points to relieve the tension that held her body captive. Staring into his eyes, captivated by his gentle caress, Sofia

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released the flood of tears that she’d held for too long. All of her life she had lacked the love and attention she desired; to attain it, she’d become self-sacrificing. With startling clarity she now understood why she had always attended to the needs of others seeking love and acceptance— beginning with her sadistic father and moving on to her self-absorbed sister, until, in her search, she thought she’d struck gold with her lover…until she learned he was only filling a void. So she’d ended up with his child and, seeking revenge, she’d settled for a depraved husband. It had been her pattern to put the needs of others before her own. Looking into Cam’s eyes Sofia found a safe space; sighing deeply, she allowed herself to relax under his ministrations. Shamelessly she relaxed under his touch, enjoying his nurturing and the gentleness of his graceful fingers. Her stomach flipped and somersaulted with butterflies at his touch. There was no compass to direct them—Sofia and Cam were lost in a sea of need. She anticipated their coming together…need filling need.… His touch transcended sympathy and became sensuous. Regarding her with care, Cam knew he was treading on thin ice.… For moments he studied her face, his gaze glazing over as he sighed with the wistfulness of manhood deferred. His wordless remorse was evident in his expression; turning her around and reaching for a towel, he covered himself. Gently wrapping a towel around her and taking her by the hand, he led her back to the marble bench. Confused by the change in Cam, Sofia threw off the towel, unashamedly displaying her nakedness, tears in her eyes as she confronted him. His reaction was immediate, betraying his feelings; watching his pupils dilate with lust as his eyes freely roamed her body, she knew he desired her. Sofia couldn’t understand why Cam had brought her this far and now turned away from her. Abruptly busying himself, he

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spoke over his shoulder, “Lie on your stomach.” Complying, she allowed him to apply a cool salve on the weeping welts, again confused by the shift in his behavior. Sofia lay prone, feeling embarrassed by what she perceived as a rebuff. Suddenly, without warning, Cam slipped his fingers between her buttocks, noting that although she stiffened slightly, she did not resist. Applying a slight pressure he felt her open too easily. As he removed his hand his suspicions were confirmed: traces of blood covered his fingers. Sighing heavily, he placed a cool sheet over her. Stunned again by his conduct, Sofia glanced back at Cam in confusion, misunderstanding his intention. “It’s okay.… I don’t mind anymore.” “No, it isn’t what I want—” Her voice cracked into a sob. “ I’m sorry…” “Sorry? Why should you be sorry?” “I was wrong.… You were being kind and I thought…” The room was pregnant with suggestion. “You are a beautiful woman married to a sadist. Today he went too far and I am only trying to help, not make your life even more complicated.” “What’s wrong with me? I am a woman…but my husband chooses to take me as a man. Then he prowls after my child so I have to keep her safeguarded by her nanny. Angel has not been able to be sleep in her room alone since we moved here. Now she is almost a teenager and I am scared to death for her. So I take the pain and abuse as he takes out his frustrations at being averted from her.” Staring at her solemnly, Cam asked the question that he could no longer avoid. “Why don’t you just take her and leave him?” Blinking back tears of shame, Sofia looked down at her hands despondently. “Because I’m afraid of him.” She spoke

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around the lump in her throat.… “I tried once before and he found us.… I could not walk for almost a week.” Cam’s mouth opened in response, but closed just as quickly. He had been prepared for her to say she had nowhere to go or a myriad of what would boil down to be cowardly excuses. Instead she had responded with an emotion that he knew intimately, having spent so many years of his life in fear. Answering the question he now recognized in her eyes, he said, “Nothing is wrong with you. I will help you and your daughter. I will make sure he never touches either of you again…but that is all I can promise you. You are a beautiful and desirable woman, but I am not competent to be a man to you.… I cannot give you what you need.” Meeting her eyes, he hoped she would understand and accept his limitations. Again he returned to his native language, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Ruhen Sie mein liebes”—Rest my dear—“verspricht, daß ich weg Ihren Schmerz nehmen werde.” I promise I will take away your pain. “Ich werde hier sein, wenn Sie wecken.” I will be here, when you wake. While Sofia slept, Cam made a phone call to cancel his appointments for the day, and returned to her side as promised. Sitting beside her, he picked up his charcoals and began to sketch. From time to time he would return to the window, watching out for her husband to return. Reluctantly, Cam woke Sofia in enough time for her to go home and change clothes to pick up Angel. “You get dressed and I’ll be waiting. I’ll drive you to pick up Angel.” “Oh no…I can’t!” she said. He recognized the fear in her eyes. “I insist. We’ll tell her I wanted to let you both test the car out since you always walk by it slowly and whistle!” he teased, enjoying the embarrassed flush that surfaced on her face and burst forth like the sun after a cloud passes.

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“Okay.… I promise not to take long.” Wincing, she walked slowly toward her home; Cam had to restrain himself from following. That afternoon was the beginning of a new chapter in Cam’s life, awakening yearnings and dreams that had been deeply buried. After picking up Angel from school, he surprised Sofia by taking them to Griffith Park for an impromptu picnic. Taking out his sketchpad, he began to sketch mother and daughter with the merry-go-round as the backdrop. To his surprise, once he finished, Angel began critiquing his work; stepping back, he handed her the sketchpad and the charcoal. Like a dueler, she accepted the challenge, and for the first time in his life Cam posed as Angel sketched his likeness with a startling clarity. The two were like kindred spirits sharing the same love for art. After that afternoon, Cam made it a point to have time in his schedule to teach Angel some of the techniques he’d discovered using chalks and charcoals. She became his dedicated student. She delighted in Cam’s proud response when she came to him with a finished project. Cam always encouraged her, making up for the lack of encouragement he’d received. He delighted when he saw the dim glow in her eyes return to the bright light of youth. One afternoon he brought Sofia and Angel to his studio, where he’d had her work framed and displayed on the walls to show all who entered the first collection of Angel Daniels Goldstein. For the first time since Angel had been a small child, Sofia watched her drop her guard with a man. Angel grinned, beaming excitedly as she ran to Cam and hugged him, filling him with pride and happiness. That afternoon created a special bond, as they became a family in spirit.

Chapter 18

One evening after putting Angel to bed and making sure the nanny was with her, Sofia found the courage to return to Cam’s home, intent on thanking him for his help. How humiliated she felt, to have been exposed at her weakest point when he had only tried to befriend her! She had replayed the scene in his bathroom over and over again, focusing on his unease at her wanton behavior as she’d misread his intentions. He had felt only sympathy for her. This time Cam opened the door before she rang the bell. Their eyes met and locked. “My dear, I had hoped you would return.” For the first time in his adult life Cam was conflicted by emotions and the desires that he had refused to entertain as an option. He once believed that Auschwitz had permanently shaped the man he’d become. Now fate had opened an unexpected door and he’d decided to cross the threshold. The last

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few weeks had brought with them new possibilities that he would never have considered on his own. The most promising for Cam was that Sofia would be interested in him as a man. At first he thought, Surely she can see me for what I’m not: complete. But as time passed, the opposite occurred. Sofia fell in love with the man that Cam represented and the way that he expressed his love for her. Consequently, he rejoiced at being given another chance at happiness. This was the first time he had been sincerely content since losing his family. Sofia made him feel clean, like the man he would have been…had men not decided to take his manhood from him, leaving him to feel like a freak. Cam and Sofia fell in love—not intentionally. It happened without forethought. Both of them had been afloat and suffered great loss; after her lover had spurned her she’d vowed he would never have anything to do with their child. Even her subsequent marriage had been an impulse to provide a respectable home for her half-white child born out of wedlock—a charade, because she never loved her husband; now the tables had been turned on her. Since Sofia had first run to Cam for help, her once-threatening husband had become a shadow, rarely coming home— and when he did, it was only for a brief period to exchange clothes. He typically stopped by only when he was sure Sofia wouldn’t be home, as though he feared seeing her. The more time Cam and Sofia spent together, the more their love deepened beyond anything they had ever experienced. They began to make plans for their future together; Sofia began looking for an attorney to represent her and file for divorce. So involved were they with each other and their plans that Sofia completely overlooked the fact that she had missed her menstrual cycle. Since puberty, her cycle had always been irregular, so she didn’t become alarmed until she

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felt the tenderness in her breasts and noticed the undeniable swell of her stomach. When she broke the news to Cam he cried tears of joy, holding her closely. They made plans in the whispered tones of lovers who have found soul mates and true happiness. Realizing that the love they found in each other was as close to perfect as they could hope for, she prayed for a quick divorce so she would be remarried before their child was born. Cam excitedly made preparations for their life together, hiring an interior decorator to prepare the home he had purchased in Los Feliz as a wedding present for Sofia. Entering her second trimester, Sofia decided to return home to Houston for her mother’s wedding and to inform her family of her pregnancy and her new love. She explained to Cam that she had been estranged from her family for years. That night she told him about her childhood, what it had been like growing up with her parents and siblings. For the first time she faced the one-sided relationship she’d had with her sister Odele, and told Cam how indifferent Odele had been, turning her back on them all and passing for white as the actress known as Delia McKenzie. She also described her love for her younger brother, Eddie, and the embarrassment of her sister Ana’s birth to her family. Sofia realized that she now felt free of the shadow of Odele. Her sister’s indifference toward her, more than anything else, had fueled the self-destructive decisions she’d made. Marrying Julius, she had never asked for her mother’s blessing. This time she wanted to do things differently and make peace; she wanted Cam surrounded by family again. At this stage in her life, Sofia understood her mother’s decisions and now envisioned a close relationship with her. Reluctantly, Cam agreed to Sofia’s request to return to Houston. Although he offered to accompany her, she insisted that it would not be appropriate until she was divorced. For

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reasons he could not explain, Cam was filled with dread. Sofia believed that he would always be fearful of separation because of the loss of his family. The next day Cam took Sofia and Angel to the airport, where he’d purchased tickets for their flight to Houston. As planned, they arrived in Houston on the day of the wedding. Hoping to surprise her family, Sofia was stunned when her husband, Julius, was waiting as she entered the door to the reception. Before she could protest he put his arm around her shoulder, whispering, “Full of surprises, aren’t you? Just imagine, my wife pregnant and I haven’t touched her…at least not that way…for more than a year.” Yanking away indignantly, Sofia didn’t see Eddie until he smoothly interrupted before she could make a scene. “Hey, baby, been looking for ya.… We’re supposed to be in the receiving line. Come on, Angel—follow me.” Then to Julius, he said, “Say, cat, Eddie’s the name.… This is my sister!” “Dr. Julius Anerson.… Uh, er, I’m Sofia’s husband.” Eyeing him with a cool deliberateness, Eddie replied, “Cool.… We’ve got a receiving line waiting for us.… I’ll be back to talk to you when we’re finished.” Without a backward glance, Eddie escorted his sister and his niece away from the man who said he was her husband. Although Sofia would probably never admit it, this was a sick cat; Eddie knew his type. Momentarily forgetting Julius, Eddie was distracted by Sofia as she hugged him tightly, whispering, “Thank you for saving me.… How did you know we were here?” “No prob, sis.… That’s what I’m here for,” he said, an expression of surprise and concern on his face. “But you’ll have to clue me in later on what I saved you from! Anyway, Momma saw you and told me to bring you over.… Look alive—you

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know we’re all surprised you made it.” Raising his eyebrows inquisitively, he added, “I didn’t know you were pregnant.” “I know!” Sofia squealed gleefully. “I can’t wait until you meet him—the father, I mean.” This time the shock on Eddie’s face was unfeigned. “Damn, baby! We do have to talk! Follow me—Ana’s saving us a place next to her.” As soon as they arrived at the receiving line Sofia hugged her mother and her new stepfather, John. “I am so proud and happy for you, Momma!” Pulling back in surprise, Carrie smiled, holding back tears. “I feel the same for you, my beautiful baby.” Next she went to the younger sister she had always shunned. This time without reserve she embraced her sister Ana. “Ohmygosh, Ana! You are so gorgeous! I wanted you to know that I am your biggest fan.” Stunned by the warm reception from her older sister, Ana returned the embrace, then looked at Sofia’s stomach. “Well, it seems you’re about to give me another niece or nephew perhaps.… After this is over, we do have to catch up, qui?” “Well, yes…qui! qui!” Sofia released her sister, taking her position sandwiched between Eddie and their grandmother, Megan. Sighing with relief and pleasure, Sofia looked forward to the next few days. She couldn’t wait to call Cam later and tell him about the reception. However, she deliberated over whether she would tell him that Julius had shown up uninvited. She knew Eddie would protect her, and she didn’t want Cam to get upset with so much distance between them. Just as she’d settled on her decision she heard the sound of champagne being uncorked next to her. Stepping back, she turned toward the sound and saw her grandmother fall forward, her clothes soaking through with blood. By the time she realized that the woman standing in front of her held a weapon she felt

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someone push her. Sofia’s forward movement startled the woman, causing her to aim the gun at Sofia and pull the trigger. “Oh no…don’t!” In slow motion she saw the bullet travel toward her stomach; as she bent to protect her child the bullet entered through the top of her head, killing her on impact. “Mommy! Mommy!” Eddie heard Angel’s screams. He had pushed Ana in the opposite direction and lunged for Sofia an instant too late. Falling on top of Sofia, he looked the woman holding the gun in the eye, willing her to kill him. Instead she turned the gun on herself and pulled the trigger. In a blur he saw Sofia’s husband grab Angel, pick her up, and run toward the exit. At least she’ll be safe, Eddie thought, crawling over to the dead woman and taking her gun. He went in search of his mother to confirm her safety; if she had perished at least he could control his own demise.

Chapter 19

A lthough Cam had no way of knowing Sofia was on her way to her death, he felt nervous and unsettled the moment she spoke of making the trip. His instincts screamed danger, his nerve endings seemed to be too near the surface of his skin. His anxiety increased a hundredfold the day he took them to the airport, and he was not able to concentrate on work or even complete the most menial task. For the first time since he saw the soldiers in the field near his home, Cam got down on his knees and prayed like his family had taught him. He prayed in the spirit, speaking utterances that even he didn’t understand; but he knew that the Lord did. In the midst of his prayer he heard the insistent ringing of a bell, but he ignored the sound. It stopped and then started again. Subconsciously he realized the bell he heard was the telephone. Out of the habit of communing with God, he rose to his feet self-consciously, shrugging off his act as a moment of weakness; dis-

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regarding the peace that had filled his spirit he ran to answer the nagging ringing of the telephone. Checking his watch, he knew it was still too soon to hear from Sofia. “ ’Ello?” he answered breathlessly. “Mommy is dead…” Stunned, he recognized Angel’s voice as she dissolved into sobs. “Angel!…Angel!” The sound of the dial tone roared in his ears as the call was disconnected. Alone again, Cam’s face contorted in agony as he felt a cold fist close over his heart. Picking up the phone, he dialed the number that Sofia had given him to her mother’s home. Confirming the news, he replaced the phone in its cradle. Unable to comprehend the enormity of the pain in his heart, Cam dropped to his knees, rending his clothes, wailing with grief like King David when his son by Bathsheba fell ill. Unable to find peace, his body was wracked with convulsions of grief. Crying out in pain, he was overwhelmed by spasms of nausea. Many hours later Cam lay on the floor next to the telephone, staring blindly, vividly recalling the despair and loss he had faced with his family…except this time it was magnified by the loss of his soul mate and their child. There was no closure…only bereavement and devastation. He was unable to reconcile her death. Unlike King David, Cam did not acknowledge God’s will at death’s claim—he did not stand, dust himself off and know that one day he would be with Sofia again. He didn’t accept that she would never be returned to him. Had he remained close to God, he could have taken comfort and accepted His will. Instead of finding redemption, Cam turned his back and his mind stepped back into the shadows of the trapdoor. On the day of Sofia’s funeral a marble statue of a woman holding her child, with a marble bench at the base, had already

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been erected at the gravesite. Cam also had the statue duplicated in a miniature version and placed next to the bench in the garden of his home that Sofia had been so fond of. He instructed the florist to keep fresh red and white roses on her grave year-round. Sofia’s gravesite was the centerpiece of the Negro cemetery in Studewood Heights, Houston, Texas. She was laid to rest next to her grandparents, whose simple headstones were far more modest in comparison. In Germany, Cam had been unable to memorialize the loss of his family; this time, however, he had wealth and power, unlike when he had been a boy. He wanted the world to know that this woman, now dead, had been loved, which is why he insisted that fresh red roses adorn the monument to signify his love, and fresh white roses to signify the love of their child. If only the woman who’d murdered Sofia had not taken her own life, Cam would have had a target for his intense hatred, a means to exact his revenge. Instead he was forced to create his own perpetrators, and this time he intended to employ his entire arsenal to the destruction of those who had caused his beloved pain. Recalling the many conversations they’d had, he kept returning to the two people who had caused Sofia the greatest amount of pain: her husband, Julius, and most of all, her sister Odele. In Cam’s opinion Odele had been responsible for single-handedly driving Sofia down the path of self-destruction. He intended to make her pay for the years of her insensitivity and self-centered ways. Revenge became the constant occupant of his thoughts, giving him patience uncharacteristic to most. Allowing Julius Anerson to escape with Angel was a mistake he intended to correct. Cam had missed his first window of opportunity, because he’d been submerged in grief and could not think logically enough to prevent the greatest wrong from occurring. Consequently he had allowed a pedophile to escape and

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take Sofia’s child. He knew that her family thought Julius was supportive, respectful and loving, especially since she had arrived at the wedding pregnant. Determination to seek revenge against Julius did not lessen his disdain for Delia; Cam reasoned that if she had not rejected Sofia, things might have been different. Even if it meant that they had never met and fallen in love, he would have done anything for her just to be alive. On the day of the funeral he stood anonymously in the crowd, studying the grieving family, except for two of them: both Eddie and Delia were absent. Standing at the rear of the crowd, he overheard someone mention how Eddie had been so overwhelmed with grief that no one had seen or spoken to him since the shooting. Cam felt the sting of tears behind his eyes; understanding the enormity of Eddie’s pain, he made up his mind to find out more about Sofia’s brother and help him in any way he could. On the same day, he set out on a singular path, intent on the destruction of Julius Anerson and Delia McKenzie. Even though Sofia had been dead nearly four years, there were days when the pain and memories of her were as vivid as though he had just received the phone call. But time and patience had placed him right where he wanted to be. Cam was now ready to execute the plan of revenge he had so patiently and painstakingly put into place. Wealthier than his wildest dreams, Cam believed it was all Sofia’s doing. When she was alive she would go to the studio with him and study the suits he designed and tailored. It was during this time that he’d learned of Eddie and his eye for design. Probing her about him, Cam would try to ascertain Eddie’s uniqueness. The description of Eddie and his instincts for survival intrigued him. Like Cam, Eddie was a survivor; making the streets his home had been no easy feat in the Heights, espe-

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cially when he’d come out unscathed. Cam once confided in her that in many ways he and Eddie were a lot alike: for one thing, both were survivors. He looked forward to having him as a brother-in-law. But that was never to become a reality, so instead of brother-in-law, Cam played the role of Eddie’s mentor and confidante. He listened and learned; the stage had been set.… Eddie was now a respectable man of means, and the show had begun.

Chapter 20

It had been a year since the night Eddie had reunited with his sister Delia, not as a subordinate but as a peer. That evening, Eddie had sought Cam out for advice on a clinic that would help Delia kick her cocaine habit. It was an accumulation of information from Eddie over the last few years that had helped Cam learn about Delia. Eddie, more than any other source, had given him the information he needed to destroy her life as she had destroyed Sofia’s. And now he relaxed, watching the rats running blindly through the maze, not able to trust their own instincts as Cam executed his plan. Lost in his reverie, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Damn…I bloody hate it when I get like this. Absently wiping the tears from his eyes, he checked his watch. It was well past noon and he still had several important tasks ahead before the evening. Reaching across his desk he picked up the phone and called his barrister. The next call went to his old friend Aaron.

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“Ziegler Management, Cathy speaking. How may I direct your call?” In his most charming manner, he responded, “Cathy… Cam Fournier speaking! You sound as beautiful as you look. Is Aaron available for an old chap like me?” Giggling in spite of herself, the receptionist responded, “You’ve never even seen me, Mr. Fournier! How can you tell if I am beautiful?” “My dear, you have much to learn. Aaron always speaks of your beauty.… He says you are gorgeous inside and out. Now, you know I trust him, considering he’s exposed to beautiful women all the time.” Cathy was so pleased by Cam’s response that she almost felt lightheaded. “I’ll put you right through, Mr. Fournier.… Uh, er, you have a nice day.” “Thank you, Cathy. You do the same.” When Aaron came on the line Cam came straight to the point, listing his requests. Even as Aaron tried to talk him out of it, he knew his efforts were futile. Oh well, he thought. The chit brought it on herself. Cam had changed over the years and although they ran in different circles now, he’d positioned himself in an uncommon place of control among the power brokers of Hollywood. Aaron had no desire to be invited out of Cam’s circle of influence; it was the one place he wanted always to be welcome. He listened intently, his pen poised above paper in case he was given instructions that could be written down. “Aaron old chap, before we hang up, I’ve a favor.… I want you to handle it personally. I don’t want her shepherded over by one of your protégés.” He listened to the request. “But Cam!” Aaron protested. “I’m already overworked—” He hated the pleading tone his voice had taken, knowing also that Cam hated it. The silence

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hung in the air so thick that Aaron’s mind raced, trying to backtrack. “Uh—er—what I mean is, until I can have my attorney find some way to release me contractually.” Hoping his explanation would be acceptable, he waited a beat, hating when Cam withdrew and became silent. But even more so, he hated his own weakness for needing Cam’s acceptance and approval. Aaron nervously drummed his thin, too-tanned fingers on his desk, trying to ignore the liver spots that were a constant reminder of his bygone youth, like his receding hairline and sagging skin. Sighing deeply, Cam said, “Trust me. The call to her will be well worth your time, mate. Times have changed, this girl is your next star…in a new arena. As for Ms. McKenzie, I put in a call to our mutual friend prior to my call to you. A courier will bring over the papers you need by mid-morning tomorrow. So unless there is something I haven’t thought of…” He let his voice trail off. “No—as always, it seems you’ve thought of everything.” After giving Aaron the information he required, Cam waited a beat. “By the way, after you have your talk with her, call me.… I’ll have a special evening awaiting you.” Aaron felt a thrill of anticipation as he recalled the last special evening Cam had planned for him. “You’ll hear from me soon, chap,” Cam said, replacing the receiver. Aaron was already anticipating the evening of exquisite pleasure Cam would invent. Cam’s words were like magic to Aaron, guaranteeing that he would go along with whatever plans Cam concocted—no matter how diabolical. Since Cam had opened the house in Los Feliz nearly ten years ago, it had become an elite men’s club, known to exist by many power brokers who needed certain persuasive techniques to enhance and whet their appetites. The “House of Pleasure,” as it was referred to, had

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something for every appetite. The only drawback was that you could visit only by invitation; consequently, Cam wielded more power than many of the known power brokers who clamored for an invitation. Picking up the phone, Aaron personally dialed the number given to him by Cam. On the third ring she picked up. “Anerson residence.… This is Angel.” “Ah, yes, Ms. Anerson, this is Aaron Ziegler…Ziegler Management. I understand that you are seeking representation.” “Why yes, Mr. Ziegler, I am. How do you know about me? I’m an artist, not an actress!” Angel’s mind raced in disbelief. Aaron Ziegler was perhaps the most powerful agent in Hollywood. “Well, my dear, let’s say I have spies everywhere, and their job is to find me my next big star. From what I hear your art rivals only the beauty of its creator. When can you come by my office? I’d like to meet you in person.” Replacing the telephone on the receiver, Aaron considered his next step before placing a call to Tina LeFauvre from Sotheby’s. “Tina.… Aaron Ziegler.… no time for chit-chat, doll, I’m running out to meet a client. Can you fly in Monday to meet the hottest artist to arrive on the scene in the last decade?” Intrigued, Tina took the bait, as Aaron had expected. Cam would be pleased that he had gone to such great lengths to put Angel in the right hands. With Tina LeFauvre as her agent, Angel would skyrocket and Aaron could stay in the safety of the world he knew.… actors and actresses. With one call, Cam had assured Angel’s entrance into the Hollywood art world along with Delia’s exit from film. Timing was everything. His only failure had been in his attempt to bring Sofia’s husband to total justice. He’d wanted Julius dead, but to Cam’s chagrin, Julius had survived the

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fiery car crash he’d staged and was now a pitiful paraplegic. Cam should have been satisfied with this unexpected outcome, except that it had all happened too late. In his mind, seventeen-year-old Angel was still being held hostage. He had hoped for Julius’s demise, instead she was tied to a cripple. Although he’d kept watch over the Anerson household from a distance, he was not about to allow Angel’s talents to go unnoticed and would do everything in his immense power to pull her away from Julius Anerson and his household. Cam had never understood why she’d left the art program at UCLA; his interest piqued, Cam resigned himself now to keeping a close watch on the doctor and the new addition to his family. As Cam had already anticipated, Aaron contacted Tina LeFauvre to represent her. Tina was perfect, and now Aaron was dispensable once he dealt with Delia. Then Cam would enjoy knowing that Julius would suffer much more without the mercy or ministrations of his stepdaughter. In a single call Cam had guaranteed Angel’s success and Delia’s failure. Timing is everything, he reminded himself again. Rising from his seat, Cam grabbed his briefcase and tam.… Time to go to the studio and see what was cooking.

EDDIE

Chapter 21

Over the next year, things moved quickly for Eddie. He had taken the first steps in reuniting with his sister Delia; tentative about opening unhealed wounds, they both tried to forge a relationship devoid of past encumbrances. Even Eddie could not believe how the course of his life had drastically changed direction. Between his first meeting with Cam and his reuniting with his sister Delia, he had in a relatively short time made a reputable name as the Svengali of Hollywood clothiers. Due to Cam’s plan of building on the reputation of Fournier & Son, everyone now thought he, Eddie, was the son. But just when Eddie had begun to relax and bask in the warm rays of success, he felt the chill and shadow of death’s presence invade his soul. Delia’s secret had apparently been uncovered and now everything was in jeopardy. Recalling his last contact with her, he felt a chill creep down his spine. He had readily dismissed her apprehension—until he received

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the haunting phone call. Fear washed over Eddie, filling him with dread when he heard Delia’s voice coming through the receiver, filled with terror and resignation. “Eddie…” “Babygirl?” Although she was the eldest, he still referred to her in this manner. “I’m hurting,” she whispered into the receiver, moaning softly, almost childlike. More than anything else, this struck a chord in Eddie, causing him to push his date from his lap and rise from his seat. “What’s wrong? I’ve been trying to catch up with you.… Where are you?” “Don’t know where…just hurting sooo bad.” The childish sing-song tone in her voice sparked tingles of fear that ran down his spine. Hoping to get a clue to her location, he asked, “I hear water— Is that the ocean? Are you at the beach house?” Trying desperately to calm the rising panic, he knew that any second he would start yelling into the phone. “No…I wanted to go to the beach house…but they brought me here.… Keep hurting me.… They know about me.… Oh…oh…here he comes.” “Who? Here who comes? Delia! No, don’t hang up the phone! Where are you? I’ll come and get you!” Eddie could hear her crying, “No! No! Please no more, don’t want any more!” Muffled sounds of a struggle and then a click as the phone went dead. Staring at the receiver in disbelief, Eddie was dumbfounded. He turned back to the woman sitting across from him, a model—for some reason he couldn’t immediately remember her name; the call had left his mind blank with the urgency to leave and find his sister. “Uh, er, some emergency business has come up—can I drop you somewhere, or call you a cab?”

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The model, named Zuri, eyed him suspiciously; this was not how she had imagined the evening would turn out. “No need, I have a car. I can stay if you want…you know, keep the bed warm until you come back.” “Tonight’s not good, baby, gotta run.… But I’ll be in touch.” Still unwilling to acquiesce, she began to pout, in hopes that Eddie would change his mind. He had invited her to his home, she had not invited herself; Zuri had no intention of just being brushed off like some nickel-and-dime whore. “I’m disappointed. I thought we would get to spend much more time together.” Without hesitation, Eddie grabbed her jacket and the keys to his car. Placing his fingers on the small of her back, he guided her to the door and held it open. “Baby, there’s nothing I’d like to do better than spend the night with you.… But, ah, you know, business calls.” “Well, er…okay. If Delia McKenzie is business…then your pleasure can wait.” She slowly stretched her long frame, like a cat waking from slumber. Zuri knew the sensuous impact that she had on men; if nothing else, she would make a memorable exit and leave him regretting the business that would take him from her. “Look, baby, I know we have unfinished business—and I do plan to finish.” Eddie held her eyes with his, hoping she would understand he was interested in her. “But there’s a problem I have to take care of…just business.” Still dissatisfied, Zuri was unable to camouflage her disappointment. She’d heard enough lines in her life to be able to recognize one. She had been attracted to Eddie from the first day she’d met him. Over the months that she’d worked for him Zuri had been persistent in trying to gain his attention; tonight she had worked late on a fitting at his studio. To her surprise, her efforts had finally paid off; after the fitting,

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Eddie invited her back to his house for drinks. Although she would have preferred a more traditional date, she knew that the days of tradition had passed, especially in L.A. It was 1968, a time of transition—tradition was passé. Like most models who moved to L.A. in search of a career, Zuri had been confronted with the harsh reality that despite her beauty and perfect measurements, she would never meet with great success because her skin was just too dark. However, Paris and Milan were her ultimate goal; L.A. was just a pit stop. Zuri had long-term plans, so she did not allow American standards of beauty to slow her down one bit. Now she was even more determined to leave L.A. She’d known Eddie was bad news from the beginning. She got in her car and slammed the door. Eddie Fournier can take his black-acting ass straight to hell, she thought. I never should have broken my rule and dealt with a white boy! The screech of Zuri’s car changing gears could be heard in Eddie’s driveway. However, Eddie had almost immediately lost interest in her anger; right now his focus was on finding his sister. He was certain that once he found Delia, he could rekindle a relationship with Zuri, if in fact he was still interested. If not, she would continue on the payroll—after all, she was good at what she did. Getting into his car, he maneuvered his way down the winding roads of the Hollywood Hills; making his way to Bel Air, he pushed his Jaguar XKE to the limit. When he reached Sunset Boulevard he headed toward Bellagio Drive to Delia’s estate, slowing down and watching the speed limit. Although it was 1968 and Negro people were in the midst of fighting for their equality and acceptance, even Eddie knew it would be years before Hollywood would readily accept a woman

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like Delia onscreen in the roles she played—unless she was passing as a white woman. Negotiating his way down the winding curves of Sunset Boulevard, he thought about the conversation he and Delia had earlier in the week. He should have been more inquisitive when he’d seen how shaky and nervous she was, especially when she discussed the possibility of being exposed as a black woman. At the time, he had flippantly dismissed her musings. “If your secret hasn’t been discovered in all this time, why are you worried about it now?” “You don’t know how divisive some people can be, Eddie. Sometimes it just takes one person with a fixation to turn your life upside down. I am surrounded by too many people who would stand to gain by my destruction.” This line of conversation was completely against the grain for Delia, who was always composed and self-contained. Generally, her spirit of determination was so great that she never saw obstacles, even when they were in plain view to everyone else. “On that count, you’re wrong, babygirl.… I once had a sister named Sofia who was gunned down because of an obsession…or fixation, as you put it. Funny thing though, the fixation was on Momma, not Sofia.” Eddie looked directly at Delia; this was the first time he had broached the subject of Sofia. It was still too painful for him and he had not been able to reconcile his anger with Delia for not paying her respects. “I miss her so much, Eddie.… When I left home I hated you all and vowed that I would become a success and never look back. But then my wish came true and I wanted to see you and Sofia, or at least speak to you, but I didn’t because I was afraid. In all honesty, I was too caught up in trying to make it and become a star, so I put you all on the back burner

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because I always thought there would be time later. Working in Hollywood, you only have a few good years. After that you fade from memory as a has-been, unless you make an impression. Unlike my peers, I have come to look forward to the time when I can move about without the reporters and cameras constantly monitoring or recording every step I make. If things had worked out, I would have been able to rekindle our relationship, but instead Sofia was killed and you showed up at my door…uh, so to speak.” “What would you have done if I hadn’t? Would you have tried to find me or even Ana? She’s also your sister.” “Eddie, I honestly don’t know. As for Ana—she chooses not to know me, not the other way around as you seem to believe.” “What do you mean by that?” “Well, as you know, the entertainment industry has an unwritten code. I can’t be a Negro sex symbol, but I can be acquainted with one. Especially if she has international acclaim. Now do you get my drift?” “Not really.… Make it plain.” “Well, about six months or so before Sofia was murdered, I was shooting a film in Italy. One evening, at a dinner with the film’s director and entourage, I was invited to Paris to attend the sold-out opening of a woman they described as having taken Paris and Europe by storm. There had been no one like her since Le Josephine. Of course my interest was piqued, so I agreed to attend. The following afternoon we flew into Paris to see Le Fonce Fille—I had no idea I would be seeing my own sister, especially in France. It wasn’t until we were in the limousine and Guiseppe, the director’s assistant, began to explain that Le Fonce Fille meant ‘The Black Girl’ or ‘Blackgal.’ I still didn’t make the connection—it only made me think how ironic it was as I recalled the nickname Father had given to Ana as a child.”

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“Nickname. Is that what you’d call it?” “Why, yes. Nickname, pet name, what else?” “No. What is peculiar is that you can find irony in a name that you worked all your life to deny!” “That is not fair!” Delia exclaimed accusingly. “Fair and accurate, Delia.… Get back to your story.” Disconcerted by Eddie’s reaction to her account of meeting Ana, Delia continued shakily. “Anyway, I thought that surely it was a coincidence that I would be confronted with a name so hauntingly familiar. I never even remotely considered the possibility of her being any relation to me. In fact, I thought, what an odd coincidence that someone would intentionally label herself as a Blackgal, but after all, it was Paris. So I asked Guiseppe if she was Parisian and he told me that she was an American from Texas.” “So that had to be a dead giveaway. Delia, no matter how you had distanced yourself, you had to recall how Logan loved to refer to Ana as ‘that Blackgal.’ ” “Logan—huh?” “Yeah, somehow ‘father’ seems inappropriate.” “I never could hate him, you know.… I saved that emotion for Mother. I’ve always despised weakness in a man or a woman.” “Again, babygirl, our differences show. Too bad you turned your anger in the wrong direction. Momma was never the weak one—she stuck with that weak sonofabitch! As a matter of fact, if it weren’t for her compassion…he’d be in the poorhouse, getting whatever assistance he could from the state. The meager check he gets from the church is barely enough to feed him. And on top of that, Ana is the only one of his children that will even visit him.” Recoiling from his anger, she said, “I didn’t know, Eddie.… I could take care of Daddy.”

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Eddie stared in astonishment at her arrogance, as if he were seeing his sister for the first time. Shaking his head in disgust he said, “It’s kinda on the late side to be volunteering to help, don’t you think?” “No—I would have helped sooner if I’d known.” “This shit won’t fly with nobody but you. You have never helped anyone but yourself—hell, when you helped me it wasn’t because you knew it was me, it was because what I had to offer made you stand out. So don’t try to play a player, baby! If you do I’ll have to show you the nigga that came from Studewood. Momma provided financially for Logan even after Ruth killed her mother and her child—do you understand the strength and compassion of a woman like that?” He confronted her eye to eye. Delia dropped her gaze, sighing heavily. “I didn’t know.” “You’re right, ignorance is bliss—you didn’t know and you never asked. You left, Delia. You! No one else. You changed and disowned us—or worse, you stated that we’d never existed.… We never disowned you—but to your surprise, we’ve survived.… Now you want to sit here with some story about how Ana insulted you? Baby, in Ana’s eyes you were a bad dream that finally went away. But go ahead with your story.… If nothing else it may amuse me and change the way I feel right now—’cause it ain’t too cool.” Delia continued her story, trying to hold back the tears behind the large lump in her throat. Her world had come apart and she’d been the last one to see it. “Well, anyway, I began to feel a little uneasy when our driver pulled the car to the curb. It was then that I saw her likeness on the marquee. For a minute I thought I must be mistaken—after all, I hadn’t seen Ana since she was seven years old. I tried to convince myself that it had to be some Dorothy Dandridge look-alike. I breathed a sigh of relief and

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even said the same to Guiseppe. His reply stunned me, bringing me back to reality: ‘Delia, that is not Dorothy! That is the divine Ana Daniels!’ “By the time I realized that it was Ana it was too late to plead illness. I couldn’t say a word, I kept trying to plan my exit, fully expecting Ana to start some nasty family scene when she found out I was in the audience. Our table was right in front of the stage and an announcement of our presence was made as we took our seats. The spotlight stayed on us for what seemed an eternity. I didn’t know what to expect.… I kept imagining Ana making a dramatic announcement that the movie star known as Delia was actually her long-lost older sister named Odele. I was sitting there unsure whether to bolt and explain my departure later or stay and publicly deny any accusation. I decided on the latter because I thought it would hold up better under the scrutiny of the press. You can imagine my surprise when Ana completely ignored me.” Eddie chuckled softly, knowing that Delia was trying to disguise her annoyance at what she perceived to be a slight. “That’s my Ana. You had no way of knowing, Delia, but Ana doesn’t humble herself to anyone.” “Well, of course I had no way of knowing,” she said again, trying unsuccessfully to disguise her disdain. Raising his eyebrows in surprise, he acquiesced, knowing that it had taken great self-control to have contained her story this long. Apparently, meeting Ana had been much more than Delia had been prepared for. “Well, anyway, as I was saying.… She acted like she was the only star in the house and we were all there only as her adoring fans. She acknowledged our entire table with a slight nod and smile, then completed her entire act without so much as a lingering or questioning glance. Of course, you can imagine my great relief at her restraint and respect for my

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personal choice. But when Giuseppe invited her to our table after the show for champagne she kept us waiting for an unconscionable amount of time. After waiting more than a halfhour, finally she had the decency to grace us with her presence.… Even then she shows up with her date—a Frenchman of nobility, no less. Guiseppe mentioned that we were filming in Italy and had flown in especially for her show. Instead of being flattered, as she should have been, she thanked him and remarked that ‘it is the charm of Europe that a Negro can be given the same star billing as only nonNegroes’—is how she put it—‘can receive in America.’ I could not believe this outspoken woman was the same mousy child that tried to hide in your shadow most of our lives.” “Well, Delia, I guess she got tired of shadows and began to seek the sun—on her own terms. Ana’s success has been her own doing. She took the very crutches that many of us have used to disguise or deny who we are and made the world accept the very thing they said they despised. So what upset you the most? The fact that she ignored you, or the fact that she did not even want to get to know you?” “What makes you think she wasn’t interested in getting to know me?” “Well, you! Didn’t you say that as entertainers you could have been acquaintances? If I know Ana, she had no desire to get to know you and she made sure that you knew that as well.” “She was such a hateful little bitch! I couldn’t believe it.… We could at least have been friends and kept in touch. I called her for a week straight and she never returned one phone call. Not even one. I was even willing to help her with her career when she returned to the States.” “Yeah? She didn’t need your help and would never have accepted it. Ana will not even come to me for help. Do you

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know that she chose to end her career after Sofia’s death? She still receives fan mail and performance requests, especially since the civil rights movement.” “Yes.… I know that and more. I have made it a point to stay abreast of my little sister and her beautiful daughter, Mignon. Although I have no right to be, I am proud of her in a distant way. You know, the whole in-spite-of-obstacles, bootstraps thing.” “I know…me, too. She’s my heart. Its funny, Delia, she has never mentioned that the two of you met in France or anywhere else. Whatever you feel about Ana, the one thing you know is that she would never betray you. I’m surprised that your story didn’t begin and end there. You may need to ask yourself, is betrayal—or discovery—what you really seek?” “That is a senseless statement, Eddie!” Delia spat out her retort as if even the insinuation left a bad taste in her mouth. Furtively noticing the flash of anger that momentarily filled Eddie’s black pupils, she tried to backpedal, knowing she had gone too far. “I’m your brother, not your boy. Comprehend?” Without going any further, she knew that she had overstepped her boundaries with Eddie for the second time today and tried to steer the conversation back in a safe direction. “Of course I don’t want to be discovered, but I am tired of the forced separation. I am so happy that I can at least be in contact with you, no matter how limited or disguised it has to be. But somehow I suspect even that won’t be for long.… You and I have to be prepared for the possibility that this might be coming to an end.” “Ah…so we’ve made it back to the doomsday conversation.… Well, okay. So what if you are discovered? What happens? Babygirl, it’s not the end of the world. It’s not like they can unrelease a movie, or retract the fact that you are a

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good—or even a great—actress. You’re set financially, and if it becomes public knowledge, then you have to determine what your options are and make a plan.” “It’s just not that simple, Eddie. I have fooled a lot of people. This is not something that can be swept under the rug. They would get rid of me before accepting the embarrassment and backlash. Can you imagine the reaction of my leading men? You forget I’m in their midst—I know how they think and what they say to each other when they’re not in mixed company. You just need to be prepared…that’s all. Do you still have the key to the Larabee apartment?” “Yeah. Why do you ask?” “Because if something should happen to me, you will find the key to everything you’ll need to get on with your life. I have always believed in tucking things away for rainy days.… Don’t you remember how I stashed all the change that Daddy used to give us and the money from babysitting in my winter coat?” “Yeah—you would save a wooden nickel if you thought it would have future value!” Eddie laughed as he recalled what a cheapskate they used to think Odele was, never buying ice cream or splurging on things that most children would. “Well, Eddie, it was that money from birthdays, babysitting and doing odd jobs that bought my bus fare to L.A.… So remember, it’s always good to have a winter coat with a little something tucked away for a rainy day.” “All right, I’ll remember, kiddo. Now let’s remember why I’m here today.” “You’re here so I can tell you where to find my last will and testament…right, kiddo?” she said in mock imitation. He lifted his brows questioningly to see if this was some game she was playing. She quickly added, “To do the final fit of my hot-pants tuxedo for my birthday celebration.… My God, who celebrates the ripe old age of thirty-five?”

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“Someone who is so celebrated they couldn’t hide it. Anyway, since we’re on the subject, how many guests are you expecting?” “Oh, just a hundred and fifty of my closest friends and associates!” “Impressive…a small gathering, huh?” She smiled at him sarcastically, picking up the phone as if it rang on cue. Eddie surreptitiously eyed his sister, noting the strange expression on her face and the nervous flutter of her hands. “Yes…I understand the importance of meeting in person.… All right, I’ll wait for the call.… Goodbye.” Thinking back on their conversation, Eddie now recalled how dramatically Delia’s mood had changed after hanging up the phone. “Is everything all right? You seem a little shaky.” “Everything’s fine, I just have to meet with some people from the studio on a project. Since the announcement in the trades that I’m retiring from screen, Sid has been anxious to get me committed to one last project.” Again, the nervous fluttering of her hands and the false gaiety betrayed her. “I don’t get it.… So what’s the drawback?” “The drawback is the role that’s being offered. Its not the one I wanted—no big deal.” Eddie knew he was not getting the entire story “Okay…for some reason you’ve decided that this is none of my business. If you have a change of heart and you want to talk, then call me. I’ll be around. Do you feel up to a fitting or should Cesar use one of the models?” “Nothing to confide, my dear brother, other than I love you.… Yes, please use a model, I don’t feel like standing still now. I’ll call you tomorrow to check in, though.” For reasons Eddie could not explain, his heart fell, instead of lifting. This didn’t feel like love.… It felt like goodbye.

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“Solid—I’ll talk to you tomorrow.… Love you, too, babygirl. Call sooner if anything changes and you need me. If not, Cesar will stop by around noon on Friday to make sure the tux fits.” Pulling away from the house, Eddie’s intuition screamed at him to remain close. He even considered circling the area and following her when she left, but she hadn’t mentioned a time, date or location. Finally he convinced himself that he was just being paranoid—after all, Delia McKenzie was a star, and there was no way she could just disappear. So he made his way back to his studio, determined to put his mind to rest. Delia was a fighter, a survivor; whatever the call had been about he was certain she could handle it. If not, she would let him know. Willing himself to shift his train of thought to something more pleasant, Eddie realized that the whole conversation about her last will and testament had made him uneasy. Pulling into his parking space at Fournier & Son, he noticed Cam walking toward the entrance. He blew his horn to gain his attention. Cam waved in acknowledgment and walked into the building, seemingly too preoccupied to wait. What’s up with him? he wondered, entering the building in search of Cesar. Once he found him he instructed him to call in Zuri for a fitting of Delia’s birthday tux. At the time, he’d had no idea that he would receive a call of desperation from Delia. It was now painfully obvious that whatever was happening she could not handle it. She’d sounded as though she was drugged—the sing-song cadence in her speech reminded him of the junkies he had known in the Heights. As a teen he had become very familiar with people addicted to a variety of drugs; on most occasions he discovered that pharmaceuticals was only a part of the parcel of ad-

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diction. When he and Delia had reunited she had been addicted to cocaine; it had taken time, but he knew she had been clean for a while. He didn’t see her returning to the scene, going back to the girl; nor did he believe she would choose to ride the horse on her own. He was sure this was not her doing. If Eddie had known the outcome or had even seen this coming he would have stayed and gone to the meeting with her. Lost in thought, Eddie drove right past the entrance to Delia’s estate. But fate was with him—as he passed the gates to the entrance he noticed a car exiting her driveway. Instead of pulling into the street, it paused, waiting until the gates closed completely behind it. After the gates were motionless, indicating they had returned to the locked position, the driver slowly pulled onto the quiet street, headed in the direction of Sunset Boulevard. Eddie identified the car as belonging to Delia’s husband, Bobby. Changing his mind about driving up to the house, he waited until the Mercedes sedan was almost a block away before turning his car around to follow. Surprisingly, the car headed north on Sunset instead of turning back toward Hollywood, as Eddie, assuming Bobby was on his way out cruising, had anticipated. Allowing some distance between the cars, he continued to follow the sedan through Brentwood and Pacific Palisades until Sunset Boulevard reached a dead end at Pacific Coast Highway. This time Bobby turned south on PCH and Eddie began to suspect that he knew he was being followed. He prepared himself for this possibility, until the driver slowed the car and turned in the driveway next to the Getty Museum. Hitting the steering wheel angrily to release frustration, Eddie swore softly under his breath. One thing was certain: He could not follow the car as it began to ascend the winding road of the steep hill to a remote house neighboring the museum.

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Continuing slowly, he drove past the point of entry, making a U-turn and parking his car where he could observe Bobby’s departure without being noticed. Unfortunately, he was able to make out only a distant parapet on the house. Lighting a Camel cigarette, he waited to see when the driver would return. His frustration grew as each second passed; from all appearances, it was a private residence—and to his chagrin, it sat too far from the road for him to get a good view. Thinking that Bobby may be on a rendezvous and that he was wasting valuable time, Eddie left. Had he stayed a few minutes longer, he would have seen Bobby leave, followed shortly thereafter by Sid Weinstein and Aaron Ziegler. Instead Eddie headed toward home, hopeful that Delia would try to contact him again. If not, he would go to the one place that she would be certain to leave a clue, if there was any. Entering his home, he went straight to the bar and poured a double shot of Jack Daniels whiskey, throwing it back in one gulp. He had a long night ahead; now he wished he had let Zuri stay.… He needed someone to take his mind off his sister.

Chapter 22

Eddie waited around for a call from Delia that never came. Frustrated, he got in his car and drove to the apartment she maintained in West Hollywood in hope of finding a clue to her disappearance. Glancing around restlessly, pacing the floor of the small flat, he was as distracted as a caged panther, mindlessly pacing back and forth as if trying to carve another groove into the worn hardwood floors. Piercing black eyes mirroring his inner pain darted about the room, searching in wild desperation. Totally oblivious to the shabbiness of his surroundings, he concentrated only on finding a clue that would lead him to his sister. The vibration of his heart echoed in his ears, causing a stream of perspiration to slide down his back. Adrenaline rushing through his body, coursing through his veins, served only to increase his anxiety. Unnerved, he ran his fingers through his silky, blueblack hair, hoping the movement would trigger a theory that

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would lead him to the clue to solve this mystery. Even with his hair tousled his rakish good looks could not be denied. Now, for the second time in his life, Eddie felt trapped, like his life was reeling and spinning out of control. Death had taken his sister Sofia away from him as he’d stood helplessly by her side. Pregnant with her second child, she’d faced the onslaught of death in its murderous rage and now it seemed he was at a loss to prevent the same fate from taking his eldest sister, Odele. In a mad frenzy Eddie blindly toppled furniture, at the height of frustration because he had no idea what he was looking for or where to find it. The only thing he was certain of was that he was at the right place—and from the looks of things, at the right time. The small flat looked as though no one else had been there, yet. Again he checked the time on his watch.… Minutes were ticking away and he felt like he was racing against the clock.… But whose clock? Clenching his fists with suppressed rage, he felt as if his heart would explode; his eyes stung from the pain of restricting tears. The pressure in his chest had become almost unbearable as images of Delia suffering flashed like a silent movie in his mind. Eddie’s entire being craved the relief of tears—no, not just tears, but gut-wrenching, breath-taking sobs. Nevertheless, the release of tears was a relief that he would never allow. Not here, not now. He lived by a personal code, and according to his philosophy—this code—only losers or weaklings gave way to the intense feminine emotions of tears. He was neither loser nor weakling. But he was determined that death would not win this time; it wouldn’t catch him off guard again. Regardless of the form it took, he would not be deceived. He had proven that death would not win. Death had been his stalker on more than one occasion and he had always managed to outmaneuver it. Unlike most adults, who spend their lives in fruitless pursuit

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of the life force that gives meaning to being, Eddie had developed an awareness of his purpose in life at an early age. He firmly believed that the reason he’d been born was to be a protector. Not of all mankind—he was not so vain or ignorant as to believe God’s purpose for him was so grandiose. In fact, Eddie believed his sole purpose was to protect the women in his family. The need to protect had been intrinsic to him, even as a child; it had helped to mold him into the man that he had become. Each time he thought of the call he’d received that night, his stomach clenched, tightening into a knot. He had to find his sister before it was too late. As he searched the small apartment in futility, he was convinced that any clue to her disappearance would be found here. Searching through the contents of each room, he knew with certainty that she would not leave anything of value in an obvious place. Now he wished that he had paid more attention when she was telling him about this place. He wished that he had asked where she kept her important information. It was clear now that she’d wanted him to know; he had failed her by not asking. Frustrated, he stopped pacing. “Think.… Where would she hide her things?” Almost as soon as he finished the sentence he remembered she’d told him how she had hidden money in the pockets of her winter coat when she’d planned to run away from home. “Thanks for that bit of info, babygirl.” Opening the door to the closet, Eddie unlocked the key to his sister’s trouble. Assaulted by the traces of her perfume, he pushed aside each piece of clothing, searching for her winter coat. To his amazement he found the one that their mother, Carrie, had bought from Ballenstein’s when Delia turned sixteen. Feeling each of the pockets, his fingers came to rest on something that felt like rolled paper. Reaching inside the pocket, he pulled out

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an envelope, and to his surprise his name was written on the front. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he opened the envelope. Taking out the letter, he noted the penmanship and knew it was Delia’s. Feeling slightly unsteady, he returned to the living room and sat down heavily on the sofa to read with disbelief the letter written to him.

My Dearest Eddie, If you have found this note it means that my identity has been uncovered. It seems that Hollywood, the place that was built on deceit, does not take kindly to being deceived. Please do not waste your time trying to find me. Instead I beg you to follow what may be my last and only request of you. I opened a savings account in your name many years ago at our bank. Each month I have placed in it the sum of $20,000. I did this knowing that I will not be killed in the traditional sense; therefore, the last will and testament in the possession of my attorney may do you more harm than good. It will be of no use for at least seven years from the time I disappear. I want you to know how much it has meant to me to have you nearby, even though we could not openly acknowledge our relationship. I love you deeply and regret with all my heart that I wasn’t there for Sofia when she needed me. I was so afraid of that bond and now I long for it daily. Please let Mother know that I am happy for her and although I never really gave Ana a chance, I wish I had her courage and could have faced the world and made it accept me for who I was. I wish that I could tell you that I know why this is

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happening or who discovered my secret. I have no information other than the rumors that I have crossed someone of great power and influence. “Hateful” and “vindictive” are terms that do not accurately describe him. Although I have never met him, I have often heard him referred to in whispered conversations as “the German.” It is him that I have offended; it is because of him that I write this letter. I hope you will take this money and do what I didn’t—be yourself. Find happiness and live well. With all my love, Odele Grief-stricken, Eddie had to get out of the apartment and clear his head. It was three o’clock in the morning, too late to call Ana. Right now she was really the only person he could talk to about this—or could he? This was too much to take in at one time.… He had lost one sister; he did not intend to lose two. Instead Eddie returned home; his nerves were raw. Taking a shower, he lay down and, mentally retracing his steps, tried to recall past conversations that would lead him to find this German—her enemy. The only person who immediately came to mind was Sid Weinstein, the head of Phantom Studios. Delia had vehemently disliked Sid, and for all he could tell, Sid felt the same way. But somehow the pieces didn’t fit.… He was almost certain that Sid was not European. He could only wonder about the call Delia had received while he was there and the one that she was awaiting to schedule a meeting. But she had been adamant about not giving him any information, so he’d left without giving it a second thought. Now Eddie’s nonchalance plagued him as he tried to figure out who her enemies were. The only one who came to mind was her husband, Bobby.

Chapter 23

Delia was elated by the phone call, and her hands trembled slightly as she attempted to replace the receiver and maintain her slipping composure. She was secretly relieved that it had come after Eddie’s departure. It was the final piece to the puzzle she had designed. She knew that when she walked back into the library where she had left Bobby she would have to camouflage her expression, knowing instinctively that Bobby would silently examine her every move. As she expected, he quickly tried to assume an air of nonchalance when he heard the footsteps on the marble floor signaling her approach. Sighing deeply, trying to appear relaxed, he said, “Has, uh, your designer left?” “Eddie, yes. He let himself out a few minutes ago.” “Oh…I thought I heard you speaking to someone.” He had strained so hard to eavesdrop on her conversation that his body had become stiff from the unnatural strain imposed on

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it. From the corner of her eye she observed his body relaxing to its normal posture as though celebrating its release. “Yes…I had a phone call.” Although Bobby knew her better than anyone else, even her brother, Eddie, she deeply resented his possessiveness. She knew that his need to know her every move had to do with his own personal gain. This, coupled with the constant scrutiny that came with stardom, had become extremely tiresome for Delia. Daily she regretted her decision to stay with Bobby and not go through with the divorce as she’d planned. She’d only relented and stayed with him after the rumors that Denny Vitali and Pia Napoli were romantically involved were confirmed by the birth of a son, now almost two years old. No longer having a reason to go through a divorce, she’d continued the charade of a marriage with Bobby. However, her marriage had become increasingly strained—not only had Delia put an end to acting in any of Bobby’s projects, she no longer felt obligated to hide her indiscretions, often publicly humiliating him. For years she had led a life separate from Bobby’s. The fact that Denny was out of the picture didn’t change anything between the two of them. Now Bobby watched Delia, intently studying her behavior, barely able to tolerate her attitude of indifference and distance not only toward him but to almost everyone and everything. This attitude of disdain was also part of her attraction and the reason for her success in Hollywood, making her much sought after as an actress. There were many beautiful women; Delia was not only beautiful but also untouchable, unless she deemed otherwise—quite a combination in a town where access came easily to the power brokers. Somehow Bobby had never been able to accept that their relationship did not give him unlimited access to her. She was often described as slightly eccen-

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tric and almost reclusive. However, Delia had created this façade because she was paranoid that her past might be exposed, with consequences she did not want to imagine. A month before, Delia had made an announcement to the trades of her plans to retire after making one last film. Her goal was to force the hand of Sid Weinstein in giving her the role that would end her career with the Oscar that she coveted and the ability to both retire and travel. After retiring, Delia planned to live in Europe, traveling from country to country until she found a place that fit. As expected, her announcement had taken Hollywood completely by surprise, making headlines across the country. It was not often that a celebrity of Delia’s stature would willingly choose to leave the spotlight. Following the announcement in the trades, rumors began to be bandied about in circles far and wide with a litany of reasons for why she had chosen to retire so young. The interest that the announcement generated made her a hot commodity with the public and upped her popularity ratings—and that had succeeded in placing Sid in a precarious position: she could leak the story if the studio chose not to cast her as the lead. This pressure had been the final piece to complete her plan and help her win the role of Cassidy. Although it had set her nerves on end, the final triumph was the phone call Delia had just received from Aaron Ziegler, her agent. He wanted her to meet him at Phantom Studios by three o’clock in Sid Weinstein’s office. Over the past month, Aaron had been on an emotional roller coaster; Delia had called him shortly after the interview announcing her retirement, advising him before he read about it. For the first time since she had known him he was speechless, silently hanging the phone up in her face. Within an hour he had called her

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three times, first screaming, then threatening and finally trying to reason with her. Now, as Bobby had predicted, Aaron called to tell her Sid had offered her the role of a lifetime as Cassidy, the heroine of Jacque Ruskow’s bestseller Invisible Dreams. It was a role that Delia had coveted from the moment she’d read the novel. She was the one who’d brought it to the attention of Phantom. But once the rights had been purchased and the screenplay written, Sid had called a meeting to coldly inform her that it was a great part for someone younger. She would not be cast as Cassidy. Although this meeting had occurred almost six months ago, Delia remembered it as though it were yesterday. At first she could not believe that Sid was serious; she recalled the conversation clearly. “You have got to be kidding.… Cassidy is me and I am not over the hill at thirty-four years old.” “Of course you’re not over the hill. But your days as an ingenue have passed, Delia,” Sid stated in a condescending manner. “And this is not the part of an ingenue! Oh, I get it—you’re still licking your wounded ego. I wasn’t too old a few years ago when you thought your title had bought you more than a new home or an office with a view!” She was reminding him of his failed attempt to bed her. Sid was power hungry and had developed a fixation on Delia. Not only had she repeatedly rejected him, but she’d made no effort to disguise how much he repulsed her. Sid never forgot his humiliation when she’d shuddered dramatically at his touch so that everyone noticed. His hatred boiled over as she reminded him of her distaste for him by throwing it in his face as she did now. Sid Weinstein was a short, swarthy man in his late forties, with a receding hairline that he tried to overcompensate for by growing his hair long on one side and sweeping across his

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balding head. He had squirrel teeth and sweaty palms; his only asset, as Delia could see, was that he had a nose for the business. He knew a great project when he saw it and, with the exception of this project, typically made sure it was perfectly cast. To this end they had always been able to maintain a professional relationship as they both focused on the unrivaled success of their movies. Unlike many studio heads, Sid was intimately involved with the details of each project that came from Phantom. Consequently, in less than ten years he had turned a small studio into a mega-studio and a force to be dealt with. Bristling at her audacity, he replied heatedly, “Don’t flatter yourself. Had one starlet, had ’em all!” This bitch is stupider than most, he thought. She still doesn’t realize I can make or break her if I choose. Even though she was perfect for the role as Cassidy, he reveled in the knowledge that Delia would never be cast in that part…although he looked forward to the begging and pleading that he anticipated would come. If only she knew how many before her had submitted to his will to get the roles of their careers. Sid had finally gotten Delia’s queen, and now all he had to do was make one more move to checkmate and win the game. Although he knew the role of Cassidy was perfect for Delia, as though it had been written for her, he was determined to make her bend and submit to his will. As a matter of fact, Sid looked forward to the day she would be subjugated to his will. When that day came he’d take immense pleasure in destroying her haughty attitude. Delia was like his witch of a mother, distant and judgmental, as if his mere presence repulsed her. Before it was all over she would grovel for his touch, his approval, just like his mother had. Whatever lengths it took, Sid would go willingly to them to erase the superior smirk permanently from Delia’s face. He had learned that everyone had a full-size

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skeleton hanging up somewhere. He would make it a point to find out which closet Delia McKenzie hung hers in. Until then, they would play this game of chess until he had her king. Now, when Sid received the call from the German, he gleefully accepted his request, anticipating the opportunity to act out his fantasies. It was a point of pride for the German to discern the special torture that would bend wills against all logic. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time—nor would it be the last—that Sid would rid himself of a nuisance. He knew Delia believed she had won the game, after making her checkmate announcement of retiring. By now she would have spoken to Aaron, who would have informed her that they were being summoned to his office to pen the deal. As Delia dressed in preparation for the meeting she replayed the conversation with Aaron, surprised that he didn’t seem as elated as she would have expected him to be. Combing her hair, she filed away his response at the back of her mind for consideration at a later time. Delia had learned that in Hollywood the actions and nuances of those around you should be duly noted and studied as attentively as a script. There was no way she would break the news in its entirety to Bobby just yet. He had been so certain that she would be cast in the role that he had begun annoying her in hopes that she would choose him to produce the film. Although Bobby had discovered her and given her the break into film, he’d made some poor choices in the types of projects he chose. Consequently, as her star had risen, Bobby’s had fallen. Over the years, Bobby’s only notoriety had come from being married to Delia McKenzie; with the public’s brief memory, Bobby was considered a kept man, referred to as “Mr. Delia McKenzie.” From the outset Delia had formed a

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relationship with Denny Vitali to direct her films exclusively. They’d built a reputation as a dynamic duo, with a string of box office hits as well as speculation about an intimate relationship. The press frequently hinted about the McKenzieVitali-Goodman love triangle, with enticing photos of Delia and Denny in cozy restaurants or boarding his yacht at tropical locales. On accompanying pages were pictures of Bobby and of Denny’s wife, Maria, at their worst. Delia was so self-absorbed she’d never considered Bobby’s feelings; she felt she had already paid him in spades. Several years ago Delia and Denny had parted ways, citing creative differences, when she left him in Italy after his wife showed up at the villa where they were staying with all five of their children. That confrontation had resulted in a divorce and in Denny’s proposal to Delia. But before Delia could resolve her marriage and contractual obligations, she found out through the media that Denny had shacked up with Pia Napoli, her archenemy who was pregnant. Afterward, Delia decided not to pursue a divorce. Before she’d made the announcement to retire, Bobby had assumed he would pick up where Denny had left off. When he’d approached her about solely producing films exclusively for her, Delia had turned him down flat. So Bobby had responded like Aaron had, showing signs of hostility, then insecurity, as though she had become his lifeline. Delia had always considered herself Bobby’s ally during their marriage. She had been his beard, never betraying his confidence although she sometimes despised the pressure of his insecurities. After years of marriage to Bobby she grew tired of the charade to appease the press, who eventually concocted a love triangle to fit their angle and keep her in the headlines. Her assignations were publicly analyzed and, more infuriatingly, privately, as Bobby seemed to forget their ar-

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rangement. Even so, she never betrayed his confidence, certain that no one could be trusted with the truth about Bobby or their marriage. Bobby and Delia’s history together had begun shortly after she’d arrived in Hollywood, following her exodus from Houston to Los Angeles. She had literally run from her true identity. Leaving her hometown, Houston, she’d boarded a Greyhound bus as Odele Daniels, a Negro girl. Shortly after arriving in L.A. she had transformed into Delia McKenzie— a white girl from Oklahoma. Their relationship had been forged by desires spoken only on a spiritual level, need calling to need. She was alone, lonely and passing for white in a strange and dangerous city. He was bisexual and passing for straight in a town that tolerated his sexuality as long as it remained veiled. After years of living an illusion, Delia had reached a point in her life where she just wanted to rid herself of all ties and disappear again, as she had done when she was Odele. Dressed and ready for the meeting with Sid and Aaron, Delia stopped in to speak to Bobby before leaving, disguising her excitement by using the skills she had honed for years before the camera. Entering the room, she smiled at Bobby with an air of self-containment and composure that belied the emotional turmoil she really felt. Had the cameras been rolling now, they would have captured a performance worthy of the Oscar she had always coveted but never received. Reminding herself that the best defense is a good offense, she decided to completely throw him off base by divulging her version of the phone call. Taking a deep breath, she started speaking as though she’d never left the room, returning to her seat across from Bobby, she picked up her mimosa, taking a sip.

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“Well, as you may have overheard, that was Aaron who called earlier.… It seems as though he may have a possible role for me…” She let her voice trail teasingly, anticipating his response. Bristling at Delia’s insinuation that he’d been eavesdropping, Bobby did his best to appear disinterested and mildly insulted. “That’s great news, babe, ole Aaron came through. Is it the role of Cassidy?” “Well, I’m not certain.… I’m supposed to meet him and Sid at the studio at three o’clock on the dot!” she exclaimed optimistically, simultaneously checking her watch as though there were no more information to be had. Although Aaron had called to confirm that Sid would make the offer, the meeting this afternoon was merely a formality. She would sign a deal memo and they would celebrate—as part of her custom—with a toast of Dom Perignon. She knew Bobby wanted the details so he could lock her in. He had pressured her about being signed as the producer when he’d first read the script. Now that it was at hand she intended to savor this process and make him sweat. Cynically interrupting Delia’s musing, he said, “For someone who may have just landed the role of a lifetime you don’t seem so excited.” Watching her thoughtfully, Bobby felt an edge of uncertainty. Sid had also contacted him, for reasons he couldn’t explain to Delia. But instead of pondering his unease he allowed himself to be caught in Delia’s little game, surreptitiously studying her actions, giving her a final opportunity to mend the break. “You know how it is, Bobby.… I’m a little excited and a lot skeptical.” She found his nervous prying annoying. “Skeptical because?” Bobby continued to prod. “Well, because it’s the role of a lifetime, the kind I’ve

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always wanted. This time the Academy won’t be able to ignore me.” “Yes, it is the role of a lifetime. But now is the time that you must have a producer who knows you…your strengths as well as your weaknesses.” If he could get her to commit to him, then perhaps he would be inclined not to turn her over to the wolves—or wolf. Although he knew Sid never acted alone. “You’re absolutely right…and I intend to get the bestsuited person to produce this project. Do you have anyone in particular in mind?” she replied, still not ready to let him off the hook. “Yes…as a matter of fact, I do. Someone I know intimately and trust wholeheartedly.” Settling in, Bobby prepared himself for the cat-and-mouse game that Delia was playing— but before he could continue, Delia interrupted him. “Well, you’ll have to tell me who it is over dinner. In the meantime I’ve got to leave for the studio.” “Don’t worry, you’ve never had a problem before, Madame. Your requests are generally fulfilled before the deal is ever made.… I’m sure you’ve already made plans to celebrate?” “I am, tomorrow night at my birthday soiree, did you forget? One way or another I will celebrate—the role of a lifetime, or my retirement and the new lifetime that will follow!” “Mmmm, you seem so unmoved.… Somehow, I can’t believe that you’ll take defeat that lightly!” Bobby could not hide the edge of sarcasm. “Anyway, I’m leaving for the studio shortly to finish up the final cuts on The Long Road Home! I plan on doing a screening this afternoon for Allen Rodgers. Probably around the same time as your meeting.” “Okay. I’ll call you as soon as I’m finished and stop by to fill you in on the details. After the screening with Allen, of course.… I wouldn’t dream of interrupting you two.” Delia

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knew Bobby hated when she insinuated that he was having an assignation with one of his lovers. “Nothing to interrupt—stop by unannounced.… Can’t believe all the rumors, sweetie.” Giving him a perfunctory hug and quick kiss on the cheek, Delia exited the room, mentally dismissing Bobby; they both knew she could care less one way or the other what he did or whom he did it to. Now it was time to prepare for Aaron and Sid. Success was sweet, especially because, after this film, she could walk away and never have to worry about finances or the threat of exposure, constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting to defend herself against allegations that she was not the little white girl from Oklahoma—or worse. Making a mental note, she intended to call Eddie before she went to the studio, but in her hurry she forgot.

Chapter 24

For reasons she couldn’t put her finger on, Delia wasn’t completely comfortable with this meeting. As insurance, she’d told Bobby she would stop by the set and give him the scoop firsthand on the meeting with Aaron, knowing Bobby wanted to be asked to produce the movie. With this in mind, she believed he’d be on the lookout for her. Little did Bobby know that if she secured the role of Cassidy, she intended to let him produce it as her own personal sendoff. Heading to the studio, she changed directions at the last minute, deciding to follow her instincts. Checking her watch, she saw she had a few minutes to spare; turning away from the studio she drove to the apartment on Larabee Way. It was the one place that no one knew about, with the exception of Eddie and Bobby—the latter of whom she was sure had completely forgotten it. The stop took less than five minutes and Delia was on her way to the meeting.

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Driving along Sunset to the studio, she ruminated over the fact that she had lived long enough to see America in the throes of labor as it struggled against nature to give birth; from the fetus known as the Negro to the infant called the Black or African American. Delia had never imagined in her wildest dreams that the 1960s in America would prove to have been the most pivotal time in American history. Delia lacked the vision to anticipate that the axle of the well-tuned engine would eventually slip, throwing a gasket and wrenching the moral fiber of an antiquated attitude known as the American way. Passing as a white woman, Delia knew firsthand the struggle and fear of the majority as they were confronted and assaulted with the reality that the fruit they had stolen from a faraway land had weathered the crossing and become acclimated to the foreign and harsh climate, away from Mother Africa. The seeds, being of strong and adaptable stock, had adjusted and taken root, growing and multiplying, sweetening the land with the richness of a dark nectar. The very hands that had toiled on the land and developed the economy had adapted to the terrain and now were held together to form a vast ravine awaiting the rain, seeking to collect the abundance of their labor. This population that had sowed and been largely ignored like chattel now stood demanding to reap the crops and be acknowledged as a member of the family, just as the bastard child who lives across the tracks from his wealthy father seeks his name, acknowledgment and acceptance. Now that America had tasted of the dense sweetness of chocolate, it could no longer deny the desire to satisfy its craving. However, this shift from rejection of an ethnicity to begrudging acceptance offered Delia no shield of protection. She was a woman who had gone to great lengths to deny her heritage. Now she could not conveniently call upon the new

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Negro civil rights leaders because she wanted to reverse her decision to pass. Delia knew she had much to make amends for, especially with her nieces, once she was out of the spotlight. Although she had not been much of a sister to Ana, there was no reason she could not be an aunt or friend to her daughter, Mignon, and Sofia’s daughter, Angel. Feeling a sense of relief, Delia thought of the endless possibilities she would have in her life. One day she intended to write her memoirs, and then she would tell her story, and hoped that it would serve as a warning to others like her to whom life had offered the option to be white or black. She would like to tell those who stood on the precipice not to take the leap. She would warn them emphatically to stand, turn around and return to the home and family whence they came. Return to the things they understood and those who understood them. Separation from the life source ended with death. For years she had been among the living dead, and now she sought life. Through time and distance Delia had created a chasm that separated her from family and old friends. Now it would take years to try to mend.… She just prayed that the fabric of their lives had not worn too thin and that the material was still salvageable. Whatever the outcome, she was prepared; one thing was a certainty—she was tired of living a masquerade. Never acknowledging where she came from, Delia had woven a cocoon of secrets and shielded herself with her great wealth. This had been effective for years, with no one daring to penetrate the fortress that she had erected. That is, no one but her brother, Eddie. Without regard to her stardom, he’d re-entered her life and given her continuity without risking exposure of her most guarded secret. Never able to openly acknowledge the fact that they were family, they’d developed a friendship publicly, and she cherished both him and their relationship.

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He was the only link between her past and present, and now to her future. Pulling her car into the studio, Delia decided that if Sid offered her any role other than Cassidy, there would be no last movie. Being armed with this decision renewed her confidence—she knew that any contact with Sid was never what it seemed. In her heart she believed that he would never willingly offer the role that he knew she’d dreamed of. Even so, she was determined to have this final face-off with him head on. Pulling into the parking space between Sid’s Rolls-Royce and Aaron’s vintage Bentley, Delia couldn’t help smiling to herself as she imagined the impotency of both men, who required such ostentatious automobiles to impress others of their importance and position. Completely unaware that both Aaron and Sid were watching her, Delia approached Sid’s office holding tight to her unwavering confidence. Her beauty as well as her air of melancholy had always intrigued both men. It was her enigmatic attitude that added to her appeal, making her fans concoct their own stories about her life. She was the femme version of James Dean, with a throng of followers and imitators. Delia acted in roles that were suited to her brooding demeanor; early in her career she’d been cast as a bad girl with a good heart. Later, her roles had changed, and she was often cast as a haughty temptress. But unlike James Dean, she did not live a life that mirrored her screen image; as she matured and changed, so did her roles. Entering the suite of offices of Sid Weinstein, Delia was surprised to find the reception area empty and Miriam, his guard-dog assistant, missing from her station. Again she had a premonition that something was amiss, but instead of falling prey to her misgivings she put on all the airs of the star as she sauntered through the reception area and entered Sid’s office without announcement.

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“Aaron, Sid.… I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long! Where is everyone?” she said, sweeping into the room with her long, streaked, honey-blond hair glinting from its recent highlights. She knew the combination of the hot pink miniskirt, vest and matching thigh-boots emphasized not only her youthful appearance but also her unrivaled sex appeal. Seeing the two men exchange a worried glance before answering, Delia felt her stomach uncharacteristically flip and fill with butterflies. “Uh, er…they’re running errands. Should I wait for my secretary to return before we get down to the business at hand?” Sid inquired sarcastically. “Only if you need her to pour the champagne.” Aware that she had the edge for the moment, Delia took advantage of the opportunity to initiate the meeting, wanting it to be over as quickly as possible. Her instincts told her to leave, that she was in danger. But Delia ignored her gut feeling and came straight to the point of the meeting, deciding to cut to the chase so she could leave. “Sid, I can’t begin to tell you how thrilled I was when Aaron phoned and said you had reconsidered and wanted to offer me the role of Cassidy.” “Mmmm…is that what he told you to get you here?” Sid’s reply was not exactly what she’d had in mind. But Delia refused to be thrown off base by Sid or his mind games. What she didn’t know was that this meeting had been well orchestrated by both Sid and Aaron. Delia’s announcement to retire had opened just the right door, presenting the German with the opportunity he had been waiting for. With one call he’d enlisted Sid—a simple matter, since Sid had been obsessed with finding a way to humiliate Delia for years. Sid could not believe his good fortune; his patience had finally paid off, and sooner than he had expected. Sid had known

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about Delia’s identity change for years and could have easily held that over her, but he knew they both had much to lose if her heritage was discovered. But now, all that had changed and his time had come.… Patience was indeed a virtue, one of the only true things his mother the witch had ever taught him. Because she was a star, Sid could never touch Delia like he’d wanted and show her he was master and she was slave. He’d thought that he’d have to settle for another scheme once she retired. After all, a retired movie star’s unreleased films would be almost worthless; and in Hollywood, where legends are born or created, Sid and Aaron both agreed she had far more value if she mysteriously disappeared instead of retiring. Now they had help to resolve their problem and didn’t have to worry about loose ends. The call had freed them in ways the German couldn’t understand. Although they knew that Delia was perfect for Invisible Dreams, they would cast it with an ingenue. Furthermore, to get Bobby’s cooperation and assistance Sid had called and promised he could produce the project—apparently something that Delia had not committed to as of yet. Oh well, another mistake on her part, thought Sid, who had looked forward to this meeting with great anticipation. Feeling the tension mounting between Delia and Sid, Aaron attempted to diffuse it before Delia became angry and left, as he knew she would if pushed. She had never been able to disguise her extreme dislike of Sid, nor he of her. “Delia, let’s not stand on formality today,” Aaron said as he offered her a glass of Dom Perignon. “Let’s toast and then negotiate. I think we could all use a little champagne to take the edge off. You know how devastated both Sid and I were when you told us of your decision to retire. You have our hands tied, you can have whatever role you’d like…in whatever movie,” Aaron continued disarmingly as he offered

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Delia a crystal flute filled with champagne, knowing all the while she was weighing his little speech. Shrugging her shoulders, she acquiesced and took a long sip from the champagne flute. It was perfectly chilled, just as she liked it. The three sat in an almost companionable silence, sipping champagne, each contemplating what the future held. As Delia took the last sip, she noticed a glance exchanged between Sid and Aaron; immediately she knew that she had missed something. Almost at the same time she regretted drinking the champagne. Feeling the sense of uneasiness causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise, Delia decided to abort the meeting and attempted to leave. To her immediate dismay her arms and legs would not cooperate with her mind, as though the connection between them had been severed. She tried to open her mouth to speak, but her words were so slurred that even she could not comprehend what she was trying to say. She should have known that Sid would not lose so easily; it was not his way. Now she had to try to stay calm and awake so she could figure a way out. Delia had been clean for a year now, but because of her history of drug use she had a high tolerance to most drugs; consequently, she believed that whatever they had given her would not last for long. However, nothing had prepared her for the drug she’d consumed; trying to maintain alertness, she fell into a nod before she could fully finish her thought. “That’s it…she’s out!” Sid almost shrieked with glee. Aaron was not as amused or gleeful as Sid. This was just the beginning. They still had to get her to the place in Los Feliz that the group used for its assignations and initiations. Then they could be assured of privacy, until they were ready to make the final transport. “We’ve got to get her up.… Bring your car around,” Aaron

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instructed. Not taking any chances on discovery, Bobby had already assured him that he had planted the heroin and hypodermic needle in the back of Delia’s trunk. According to the German, they had about a twenty-minute window before she approached any semblance of consciousness. The guard would later recall to detectives and the media that he had seen only Sid and Aaron leave together after their meeting— without Miss McKenzie. He had no way of knowing that she lay motionless in the trunk of Sid’s Rolls-Royce. The two men made the drive to Los Feliz in silence, each weighing the outcome. Looking out the passenger window Aaron imagined that no one would believe the perversions that were played out in this prestigious enclave of estates nestled near the Hollywood Hills. Each time he turned onto the palm-tree-lined lane and headed toward the wrought-irongated entry, Aaron’s heart would beat excitedly in anticipation of his visit to the House of Pleasure—or Games, dependent upon the pursuit. It had happened each occasion he’d visited…except today. Today he couldn’t reconcile the guilt he felt for betraying a woman who’d treated him like her father. Closing his eyes, he prayed for forgiveness as the Rolls-Royce made its way up the winding drive shrouded by trees. Once they had her in the Los Feliz home, Sid could barely contain himself.… It wouldn’t be long before she was begging for mercy. Sadism was not to Aaron’s taste, so he quickly retraced his steps, giving Sid complete privacy. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.… That should be enough time.” He didn’t wait for an answer, nor did he expect one. He knew that Sid was seized by his desire to cause Delia unthinkable humiliation and pain. So consumed was he that he would not let words or time become a distraction to him.

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By the time Aaron returned several hours later, Delia was a shadow of her former self. Her sanity had receded into a corner and she was no longer the sophisticated, selfassured woman who had enthralled the masses. Now she was childlike, constantly looking to Sid in a drug-induced haze for permission to move or speak. A shiver ran down Aaron’s spine when Delia began reciting nursery rhymes in a sing-song tone. Sid was apparently so pleased with himself that he could not suppress the grin that split his ogre’s face. “Now we can take her, it’ll be a cinch to have her committed—and no one will recognize this hag as our star.” Aaron stared blankly at what had once been an undeniably beautiful face and realized Sid was right. Delia’s face was now swollen and misshapen with a gash that ran from her jawline to her mouth; also, her hair had been cut, leaving barely enough to cover her scalp. Again Aaron wondered at the grievous injustice that Delia must have committed against the German that would cause him to turn a sadistic pig like Sid loose on her. Although he was unable to help, Aaron secretly mourned for her, admitting to himself that she had never done anything to warrant this outcome, not even her deception. With heaviness in his heart he spoke softly to the injured woman before him, extending his hand gently toward her. To his dismay she flinched away in fear, although she had once trusted him like a father. He felt something akin to hatred toward Sid well up inside him. Sid regarded Delia’s ability to deceive and her unrelenting rejection of him as a personal affront to the entire white race. Aaron was certain that had they been in the South, Sid would have personally recruited and led a lynch mob. Recalling how angry he’d become when Delia would be seen in the

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company of her leading men, Aaron was sure that Sid would have taken pleasure in publicly humiliating Delia, had not the financial and personal devastation been so great. However, with the recent events surrounding the civil rights movement, all of the riots on both coasts, and the abolition of Jim Crow, there was no telling which way public sentiments may sway. Although he personally disagreed with Delia’s deception, he knew that America wasn’t ready for a Negro sex symbol. Even Lena Horne and Eartha Kitt knew their places—they helped placate the Negro and provide him with good, wholesome American entertainment. If Aaron had known Delia was Negro, he never would have agreed to represent her. Until just recently there wouldn’t have been enough work to warrant his representation; his decision was based on finances and demand, not color. Now, with the new interest in Negroes, he’d changed his approach and had been courting Sidney Poitier and Sammy Davis Jr.; Aaron was all about money. Avoiding all eye contact with Sid, he felt repulsed and couldn’t wait for this entire ordeal to be over. There were other studios and Aaron would seek them out in the future, steering his clients away from Phantom Studios and Sid Weinstein. Sensing Aaron’s growing agitation, Sid switched tactics. Instead of speaking directly to Aaron, he began giving direction to Delia, knowing she would follow without question. All the while he maintained a safe distance from Aaron, trying not to give the impression that he was concerned for his own well-being. Paying no attention to Sid, Aaron gingerly assisted Delia into the rear of the Rolls. He overlooked Sid’s demand that she be returned to the trunk and laid her down on the back seat of the car. During the drive she busied herself singing nursery rhymes that had comforted her as a child. The effect

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on Aaron was both gut-wrenching and macabre. Neither man spoke during the ride from Los Feliz to Malibu. Although the heroin combined with the torture had left her mentally unstable, Delia still tried to hold on and record the direction she was being taken. However, this was to no avail; everything seemed familiar and foreign at the same time. Her instincts screamed like those of an animal that senses danger. She was able to decipher the seriousness of her situation, even though she was unable to communicate it. Considering the circumstances and her condition, Delia knew there was no way they would allow her to go free. Fear washed over her as she realized they would have no recourse but to kill her and dump her body in the hills overlooking the ocean. Mentally preparing herself to get away, she was hopeful once the car turned onto Pacific Coast Highway. Slowing down, the vehicle turned up a steep hill behind the Getty Museum, maneuvering the long, winding drive slowly. As they reached the crest, Delia immediately recognized the location as the Well Spring Institute. Although she had never visited, the institute was a part of Hollywood folklore, spoken of in hushed tones as an asylum for the rich. Although Delia had never really believed the stories, fear now caused her bladder to release and urine to run down her legs for the second time that afternoon. Unlike the first time, she felt no embarrassment or humiliation; her response was a primal reaction. Deep inside she knew that she would never be found and probably never be able to escape. Her fate was far worse than death; this was punishment without end…to be considered insane and held indefinitely. Now she knew that no one would ever find her body when it drifted to shore or discover her remains in a shallow grave. Instead she would just disappear, and after a while even the press would lose interest and stop romanticizing her disap-

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pearance when she didn’t resurface. Even if she were ever discovered, judging from her present condition, she would have spent enough time as Jane Doe to be considered verifiably insane. Her only hope for escape was to continue acting like she was too drugged to understand what was going on. Delia hummed softly, knowing that the two men were no longer paying her any attention, focused only on finishing what they had started. The Well Spring Institute occupied 165 acres of land with three sides bordered by treacherous cliffs overlooking the ocean. Situated a mile behind the Getty Museum, it was often assumed by museum visitors to be a former Getty residence. The veranda that surrounded the turn-of-the-century Victorian mansion gave it the appearance of being a bed and breakfast resort. The institute had been designed to confuse the casual observer, and even the police, concerning its occupants. People of wealth, fame and notoriety were taken to Well Spring to receive treatment for a number of mental illnesses, including drug abuse. The grounds were well maintained and no luxury had been overlooked. Monthly accommodations at Well Spring were equivalent to the average person’s annual wages. However, they provided a guarantee of absolute privacy and anonymity. It was just the kind of place where the person who had been committed would never be found. There was no need for further violence or the concern of a body being recovered and an impending murder investigation. As they proceeded up the winding driveway Delia began to formulate a plan for escape. Sid noticed a familiar spark of clarity in Delia’s eyes as he studied her through the rearview mirror. As if reading her mind, he pulled the car off the road and stopped. Without hesitation he whirled around, punching her in the temple. Recalling the torture he had visited upon her earlier, she willingly gave in to the blackness.

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Leaning over the car seat he yanked her limp arm toward him and tied off her vein. Delia never felt the prick of the needle as it entered her vein, only the assault of the heroin as it invaded her body like the rape of a virgin. The first episode of drugging her orally had not remotely compared to the injection in her vein; it tore her apart. Her eyes shot open of their own accord, moving about like the eyes of one of the popular Hawaiian kewpie dolls that adorned many rear windows. Initially jerking as if trying to right itself, her head collapsed forward, unable to defeat the gravitational pull; her mouth fell open, twitching, as if trying to speak. She let the horse take her on another ride. Delia never felt the contraction as her stomach rid itself of its contents. With a satisfied smirk, Sid drove to the side entrance for emergency admissions, impatient to get her out of his car. When the orderlies opened the rear door of the sedan their senses were assaulted by the combination of semen, bile and urine that had soaked through her clothes. Disgusted by her condition, they returned to the admissions desk for a blanket to cover the sick woman before they transported her from the car into the building. Sarah Stevens, the shift nurse, glanced up in surprise from her work, revolted by the smell coming from the woman Ken and Tom were wheeling toward her. Putting her hand close to her nose, she waved the admission away. It was extremely unusual that a new patient would be brought to Well Spring Institute in this condition. Scrutinizing the woman with distaste, Sarah sent Ken to the supply room for a hospital-issue gown, while instructing Tom to take her to the female ward attendant to clean her up. There was no way that she was going to have this woman ruin the nice chairs in the reception area, not to mention the smell. One of the reasons that she had quit working at county

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hospital was to avoid coming in contact with patients like this woman. This battered hag definitely didn’t fit the description of a Well Spring patient; judging from her face, she had fought with her pimp or drug dealer. As soon as Sarah was satisfied that the woman was being attended to, she directed Ken to return her to the reception area for transfer once she had been cleaned. That taken care of, she went in search of Dr. Lyon, the psychiatrist and chief of staff. Being the kind man that he was, she was certain he was comforting the family or friend who had brought in this unfortunate woman. Typically, Sarah was able to anticipate Dr. Lyon’s directives, but this time she wanted to be certain this patient was scheduled for Well Spring. If not, she needed to inquire which area hospital she should call to check for an open bed. Judging from the haggard appearance of the woman and lack of any statusdefining jewelry or clothing, she assumed she didn’t have the wherewithal to afford a private rest facility. Approaching the doctor’s office, Sarah hesitated when she saw him deeply engrossed in a conversation with two welldressed men. Doubtful as to whether to interrupt, Sarah stood by the door, momentarily gathering her wits as she studied the trio. Although Sarah was aware that it was entirely inappropriate, she couldn’t resist eavesdropping on their conversation. Listening intently, she overheard the man—whose name, she learned, was Sid—explaining to the doctor that his cousin was strung out on heroin and had delusions that she was an actress. He stated that the battered woman had fought with her dealer, which confirmed Sarah’s suspicions and explained why she was so beaten and bruised. At first Sarah thought Dr. Lyon would turn the woman away. Then she noticed that he seemed to be closely scrutinizing the man named Sid as though trying to weigh the validity of his story before making a decision to agree to the commitment. Sarah

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then turned her attention to his friend, who seemed almost grief-stricken by the woman’s condition. Hmmm, that’s an odd reaction, she thought. I wonder why he is more concerned for the welfare of this woman than her relative who seems to be trying to impress Dr. Lyon with his wealth, position and ability to pay for her confinement. Wrong approach, Sarah thought. It was just part of the admissions criteria for Dr. Lyon. He had to believe a patient had hope of full recovery. As though he was no longer able to contain himself, the other man spoke for the first time, introducing himself as Aaron Ziegler and alluding to a previous intimacy with the woman. That answers why he seems so anxious and griefstricken, she thought. The man spoke with a heartfelt sincerity to the doctor about the woman. Dr. Lyon turned his full attention to Aaron, intently scrutinizing every word and action. To Sarah’s awe, he made a decision in favor of the woman’s remaining. Apparently Aaron was the more persuasive because his appeal seemed to settle it. Well, Sarah thought, that woman ought to thank God.… Not many people of her station have friends and relatives who would care enough to have them treated at a facility as exclusive as this one. “Uh-hmmm…” She cleared her throat to make the men aware of her presence. “Doctor…I, uh, just wanted to let you, er, know that I have taken the liberty of having our new admission cleaned and the gash on her face attended to,” Sarah announced, certain that she had pleased the handsome psychiatrist with her thoughtfulness and efficiency. As she had hoped, he acknowledged her competency. “Thank you, Sarah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Turning back to the two men, he motioned for them to follow him. “Let’s go to the reception area, gentlemen.… You can

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both say farewell there and leave her belongings. As for the committal papers and fee arrangements, they can be processed after Miss Daniels is settled into her room.” The two men exchanged uneasy glances; they had not thought of luggage. “We will have to return with her luggage tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.… It’s been such a long day,” Sid offered contritely. “As for the fee, I have cash for the first year.” “Actually, our policy requires that the patient have no other contact with visitors for thirty days after admission, at a minimum, until she shows signs of improvement. For that reason we are required to close the loop on the admittance process and prefer the patient to have some personal effects. Nothing extravagant. It’s just that our patients seem to adjust better when they have their own bedclothes and a few casual outfits than having to wear the hospital issue—and of course, any items of endearment. We demand that tonight be the last contact she has with friends or family until she is well enough to accept guests, which typically is a sign they’re ready to re-enter society.” Again, the two men exchanged uneasy glances. Correctly reading the exchange, Dr. Lyon continued, “I’m certain that you gentlemen have heard the rumors about patients who are admitted and never seen or heard from again?” Without awaiting confirmation, he continued, “As a matter of fact, that is true…but not for the reasons you think. These people are admitted seemingly possessed by many demons of self-destruction. Once they’re cured, typically they have no desire to return to the lifestyle or individuals who were witness to or the reason for their infirmity.” As Dr. Lyon spoke, an idea formed in Sarah’s mind to resolve their plight. “Gentlemen, I have a suggestion…if I may be so bold.”

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The three men turned to look at Sarah, hopeful that she would have a plausible answer to their dilemma. “No, Sarah, tell us,” Dr. Lyon encouraged. “Well, why can’t Mr. Ziegler get her overnight bag and luggage while Mr. Weinstein completes the paperwork?” “Good idea, Sarah! Gentlemen, what do you think? Does it sound like a workable plan? As for payment, Nurse Stevens will give you a receipt as soon as the admission forms are signed.” Grimacing at the suggestion, Aaron conceded. “Sure.… I’ll go get her things and bring them back.” Even as he finished his statement, he calmed himself with the realization that no one would be looking for Delia—yet. And even if they were, they certainly wouldn’t make the connection to him; after all, he was her agent. “May I use your phone?” he asked. “Certainly, be my guest,” offered Dr. Lyon, excusing himself and waiting for Sid to follow. Picking up the phone, Aaron dialed Bobby. Within minutes he’d apprised him of the change in plans and given him the exchange point. Luckily, Bobby had not fallen to pieces as Aaron had anticipated; instead, he responded with a calculated calmness. After ascertaining Aaron’s request, Bobby indicated that he would go to the maid’s quarters and take a few outfits and some bedclothes from her for Delia. Hanging up the phone, Aaron made a second call to Cam to assure him everything was going according to schedule. To his disappointment, Cam seemed distracted—not the response he had anticipated. After all, this had all been his idea. “Cam, did you hear me? I said all was going to plan!” “Yes, mate, I heard you.… Er, what time will you blokes be leaving?” “No more than another hour!” Aaron felt relieved for

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reasons even he couldn’t comprehend; he always desired Cam’s approval. “Good…You blokes stop by before you turn in. I want to hear all about the twit’s reaction.” “All right—we’ll see you soon.” Hanging up the phone, he made a fuss about having to drive into the downtown area, just as a precaution to provide him with an alibi if this plan fell apart. Returning to Sid’s car, Aaron got behind the wheel and drove down the hill far enough to be out of sight of the clinic or security cameras while waiting on Bobby’s arrival with Delia’s suitcase. As he sat there, Aaron again pondered his conversation with Cam. It was not like him to become distracted from anything as important to him as this.

Chapter 25

By the time Delia had regained some semblance of lucidity, she was bewildered and could not recall when her clothes had been removed and replaced by a hospital gown. Running her fingers along her jawline, she felt the stitches, explaining the tingling sensation and tenderness. Tentatively peering around the room, she released a sigh of relief that Aaron and Sid were nowhere in sight. Seizing the opportunity, she tried futilely to get her bearings. Judging from the appearance of the wellappointed room, she realized she was in an alcove, probably near the admissions area. To her surprise there was a telephone on an escritoire less then ten feet away. Even in her unstable condition she managed to get to the telephone and dial Eddie, knowing this may be her only chance. She was praying that he would be home. When he picked up the telephone on the second ring, Delia was so relieved to hear his voice that she began to weep hysterically, all the while trying

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to explain her predicament. Aware that she was not speaking coherently, she knew that he could not make sense of her babbling. Although she tried to explain her location, the effects of the drug were too powerful. Delia felt her composure slipping as she began to panic, realizing she would never be able to explain her exact position. Meanwhile, Sid and Aaron had followed Dr. Lyon and Nurse Stevens to the reception area alcove to Delia to say their farewells before she was escorted to her room. Glancing up, Delia saw Sid turn the corner; terrified by the sadistic expression on his face, she forgot the call and placing her hands across her face defensively, she dropped the phone, crying. “No! No! Please no more, don’t want any more!” Although she could hear Eddie screaming her name, she was too fearful to answer. Aaron felt a trickle of fear creep down his spine. Who did she call? What if she has identified us or where she was taken? he thought. Sid, on the other hand, felt no such fear—he was confident she would never be found; after all, the wheels had already started turning and he had ensured that no one would believe she was Delia McKenzie. Even after she’d healed, it was still unlikely that she would ever be as beautiful again as she had been earlier that day. Sid was amused at his own cleverness and stroke of genius; he’d had Delia admitted under her given name: Odele Daniels. He had never felt so powerful as he did right now, knowing he was responsible for ruining her. After today he would not need to seek out the German or return to the house in Los Feliz—this had been the ultimate climax. From now on, Sid would recall the afternoon he’d spent with Delia— a double would no longer be required for his pleasure. Sauntering toward her, he held her eyes in his, enjoying this cat-and-mouse game of intimidation.… So caught up in his

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sadistic desire for control that he was unaware of the doctor’s close scrutiny of his every move and of the battered woman’s reaction. Nurse Stevens ran to replace the phone on the receiver, chagrined and embarrassed by her failure to prevent the patient from breaking protocol. There would be hell to pay for whomever had been stupid enough to leave the patient unattended. Turning back, she apologized profusely. “I’m so sorry, gentlemen…doctor. I’ll find out who left her unattended.” Dr. Lyon’s attention, however, was focused on the interaction between Sid and the patient. He had seen enough in med school and volunteering in rehab clinics throughout L.A. to know the difference between a junkie and an abuse victim. It was Dr. Geoffrey Lyon’s experience, coupled with the fact that he was the heir to the Lyon fortune, that had ultimately persuaded the Well Spring board of directors to appoint him as the chief of staff of this posh and legendary facility ten years ago. At forty years old, he was not so naive as to believe this case was as cut and dried as Sid Weinstein would have him conclude. Nor did he accept that Weinstein was in any way an immediate relative to this woman. Even in her battered condition, he was certain that she was too beautiful to be related to this ogre of a man. Sensing that Sid was enjoying her terror, Dr. Lyon stepped between them, placing his hands gently on her shoulders, he turned her to face him, trying to make eye contact. He realized she didn’t see him, so complete was her terror. As he released his grasp to indicate he meant her no harm, the woman began trembling convulsively, causing her teeth to chatter. Motioning to the nurse for assistance, he said, “Sarah, take Miss Daniels and get her settled into her room. After she’s settled in, let me know, and I will write up the prescription for her meds. We’ll discuss the matter of her being unattended later.”

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“Yes, doctor—will do!” Sarah responded, despondently wondering which one of her staff had dropped the ball. As she wheeled the patient down the hall, the woman tightly shut her eyes and suddenly began crooning a song that had been Sarah’s favorite as a child. Although she knew this was entirely coincidental, it caused the hairs to rise on the back of her neck. She was accustomed to the varied reactions of patients when they were being committed, but there was something about this woman so wounded; the melody was haunting as she strained to achieve a tune beyond her reach. The song seemed inappropriate, coming from a source that resonated such an indescribable pain. Sarah involuntarily increased her pace until the sounds of her heels tapping on the linoleum created a haunting accompaniment to the woman’s song. Ringing the bell insistently, she was immensely relieved to arrive at the ward entrance. Uncharacteristically, she pushed the wheelchair toward her longtime friend Elga; making excuses that she had to meet with Dr. Lyon, she hurriedly turned to leave. Taken aback by Sarah’s abruptness, Elga had been awaiting her arrival and looking forward to the chat that would follow. They had both come from County Hospital together more than ten years ago and remained close friends. Whenever a patient was admitted to her ward, Sarah would personally bring the patient so she could see Elga. The two women would catch up on the latest gossip until one of them was paged over the intercom. Shakily, Sarah returned to her desk. Rummaging through her drawer she found her carton of Pall Malls. Lighting the cigarette, she dragged deeply, holding the smoke in her throat until she felt the burn. Tonight had been a debacle from the moment Odele Daniels had been brought through the doors. She had no idea what to expect from Dr. Lyon—this was the first time that she had not followed his directives to the letter.

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There had only been a couple of times in Sarah’s nursing career when she had come across a person or situation that made her question her ability to be effective at her job. If not for her deep affection for Dr. Lyon, she would have quit and gone to work for her older brother Charlie in his bakery— although, with the monotony his life offered, they would both die of boredom if one of them didn’t have an outlet. Grinding out her cigarette, Sarah popped a mint in her mouth and went in search of Dr. Lyon. May as well get it over with sooner than later, she thought. Walking into his office, she was surprised to find him speaking in hushed tones to two police officers. Turning toward her, he beckoned, concern etched on his brow. “Nurse Stevens, it seems that Mr. Weinstein and his friend were in a fatal accident at the base of the hill. These officers came to ask me to warn staff to take special precautions when using the PCH exit.” He turned back to the policemen. “Well, officers, I’m glad that I was able to confirm their identities—however, I am grieved for their families’ loss.” Walking the officers to the door, Dr. Lyon turned back to Sarah. “This is shocking.… I don’t think this is something that the patient should find out about right away, Sarah. It may set her back even further.… Enough mistakes were made at her admission and I don’t want to make any more than necessary.” Blushing with embarrassment, she said, “Yes, sir, my mistake. I’ll make certain that she doesn’t find out. I’ll also post a bulletin in each building to take precaution when exiting the Institute.” “Thanks, Sarah.… As usual, I know I can depend on you to handle any situation. By the way, when you speak to Ken…don’t be too harsh. I’m certain he thought Miss Daniels would be out for a while. I hear that he’s panicked by your

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reaction. We all make mistakes.… It’s how we handle them after we make them that counts.” “Of course, doctor. I’ll go and speak to him now.… Is there anything else?” “Not now, Sarah…thanks.” Sarah exited Dr. Lyon’s office to go in search of Ken. Although she was angry and embarrassed, she knew the doctor was right. Everyone made a mistake sooner or later. Now that this ordeal was over, she planned on returning to Elga’s ward to tell her about the accident as soon as she’d spoken to Ken.

Chapter 26

A fter Sarah unceremoniously dumped the new patient on her and retreated to her office, Elga Schaeffer stared after her in disbelief. It was not like Sarah to leave a patient without giving Dr. Lyon’s instructions for meds. Glancing at the new patient and sighing deeply, she pulled the clipboard from the back of the seat pocket and studied the admittance record. Making a clucking sound with her mouth, Elga studied the patient’s chart for information on her drug history. Pushing the wheelchair, she looked for signs of track marks on the woman’s arms as she wheeled her down the sterile hallway to the room she would occupy. Elga was overcome by a feeling of anxiousness. Something about this admission doesn’t feel right, she thought, surreptitiously glancing back down at the woman’s arms. Hmmm.… I’ve never seen a junkie that didn’t have track marks. As she studied the battered woman Elga was caught off guard by the song the woman

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crooned softly. Now she realized why Sarah had departed so quickly—she had quite obviously been spooked. The woman was singing the tune from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs: “Someday My Prince Will Come.” Always being one to follow her intuition had been Elga’s saving grace more times than she cared to recall. However, since she had begun working for the institute more than ten years ago she had been able to relax and no longer needed to rely on her intuitiveness as strongly as she had in her childhood. Accustomed to the emotions of extreme loss and remorse, Elga understood that the woman was seeking comfort from her own childhood. So she began to hum softly in accompaniment, hoping to make contact. For a moment she thought she had done just that—the woman turned slightly toward her, appraisingly, pausing momentarily. Odele stopped singing and turned away, tightly shutting her eyes. Arriving at the door to her room, Elga paused ceremoniously, announcing, “This, my dear, is the royal suite we keep for a princess—and now you’ve arrived. My name is Elga, and I guess you could call me your lady-in-waiting.” Again the woman turned completely around, opening her eyes so that she looked at Elga’s face, studying her feature by feature. “Shall I call you Princess Odele?” Elga questioned, continuing to use the song that the woman had chosen as her lead to communicate. Assuming that she would not respond, Elga bent down to take the woman’s feet from the wheelchair footrests so she could walk into the room. “Thank you, yes.… I’d like to become Odele again,” the woman whispered in hoarse response. Glancing up in surprise, Elga stared at Odele quizzically, I wonder what she meant by that.… Oh well, poor thing, so many drugs in her she probably doesn’t know who she is! I can’t wait to tell Ronnie about this one! “Okay. Let’s get you

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settled into your new accommodations. I’ll do all I can to make you comfortable. The doctor will stop in briefly to prescribe your medications. In the morning you’ll meet with him to discuss your therapy schedule after you’ve rested.” Silently Odele turned back in her seat, eyes opened wide to study the room that would be her home. Shivering, she felt a chill creep down her spine as she had a premonition of confinement; always extremely claustrophobic, she began to hyperventilate. By the time Elga was able to sedate her, the nurse had received another surprise to add to the puzzle that had slowly begun to form since she first laid eyes on Odele Daniels. Sarah called the ward to tell her that police officers had visited Dr. Lyon confirming that the two men who’d committed Odele Daniels had died in a fiery automobile crash between their Rolls-Royce and a drunken driver. Finally finishing her story, she swore Elga to secrecy. For the second time that evening Elga thought Sarah was acting completely out of character and wondered if it had anything to do with Odele Daniels. After her conversation with Sarah, she decided to leave by the rear driveway to err on the side of caution. Elga couldn’t wait to get home and see her grandson, Ronnie, to tell him about her day. He always seemed to put everything in perspective, even at the ripe old age of twenty-two. Making a mental note, she reminded herself to call and wake him up so he wouldn’t be late to the university—after all, he was the youngest assistant professor on staff and it wouldn’t do to miss a class because he’d overslept.

DELIA

Chapter 27

Days became months and months became years as Delia McKenzie returned to being Odele Daniels, a light-skinned woman of African American descent. Commitment became exile, and for the first time in her adult life Odele confronted the demons that had shaped and controlled her life for far too long. During the first few months of her confinement, she’d refused to speak during the daily hour-long session with Dr. Lyon. At first she’d assumed he was in on the plot to have her committed against her will, and even though he had shown her only kindness she didn’t trust him. Consequently, Odele examined every nuance, believing with certainty that her confinement was just the beginning of unspeakable tortures. Each day she awoke in fear of seeing Sid entering her room, his mouth twisted in the cruel line he tried to pass off as a smile. After several months of therapy and no response from Odele, the doctor decided on a different approach, one that

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he had never attempted with any of his patients. Dr. Lyon put aside the routine that he typically followed during a counseling session. At first they sat in complete silence, Odele following his every move with her eyes, her face remaining expressionless. For the first time in his career Geoffrey Lyon felt intimidated by a patient. Her cool indifference and complete assessment made him feel as though she’d read his every thought and knew all his weaknesses and strengths. Disconcerted, he began to make small talk in hopes that she’d join in, all to no avail. He tried discussing his life outside the institute, to spark her interest. One afternoon, for reasons unknown to him, he felt an urge to tell her about his parents and their disappointment with the way his life had turned out. He began with his childhood, and noticed that Odele seemed to relax and let her guard down as he spoke. He knew that she was listening attentively from the way she closed her eyes and leaned her head back into the cushion. At one point he thought that she was further snubbing his attempt to communicate, and he almost threw his hands up in exasperation—until he noticed a slight smile turn up the corner of her mouth. Two things happened when Dr. Lyon saw Odele smile: He realized she was visualizing the story he’d told, and he became obsessed with seeing her face light up with a smile again. As the months passed, it became obvious that Dr. Lyon’s interest in the patient Odele Daniels was more than merely professional. Although she had shown no signs of drug addiction within days of her initial confinement, she still retained her room in the drug treatment center. This was partly due to Elga, who had grown attached to the quiet woman. Because she was a ward of the drug treatment center, Dr. Lyon could justify her continued confinement as part of a study into drug treatment therapy he had been conducting. Each day he made special

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rounds into the ward where she was housed to check on her progress. Often, to his surprise, Elga, the ward nurse, would be sitting in companionable silence with Odele. The patient’s quiet, thoughtful demeanor intrigued Dr. Lyon, especially her eyes, which never strayed from their focal point. Elga had seen enough emotional pain and devastation in her life to know that this gentle woman’s wounds were deeply embedded in the core of her soul. Oftentimes she’d sit and talk to Odele about her grandson, Ronnie, and the gossip of hospital goings-on, particularly any gossip involving Dr. Lyon. She observed Odele’s response each time she mentioned the doctor. Her head would tilt slightly while her fingers absently traced the scar that began at the corner of her mouth and ended at her jawline, as though she were familiarizing herself with its position. Although her scars and bruises had healed, it was clear that Odele was only a shadow of the beauty she had once been. Whenever Dr. Lyon entered the room she tried to tilt her head so the scar wouldn’t be as obvious. It was the only vanity the woman displayed. Elga had personally attended to Odele since her confinement and tried encouraging her to take an interest in her appearance. To her dismay, the once-beautiful woman refused to look at her reflection in a mirror—she would tightly shut her eyes or turn her head away. Once Dr. Lyon began to visit Odele in the gardens and make unannounced stops by her room; however, that all began to change. At first she seemed indifferent to the doctor, until, one afternoon after her therapy, Odele returned to the ward smiling. Elga unwittingly mentioned Odele’s change in attitude to Sarah, who also had not missed the frequency of Dr. Lyon’s visits and his preoccupation with this patient. That evening, as Elga made her final rounds before calling it quits, she stopped in to check on her favorite patient. To her

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surprise, Sarah was in the room, leaning over Odele and speaking in a low voice. Clearing her throat, Elga didn’t miss Sarah’s discomfort as she quickly exited the room, making an excuse that she was needed up front. Turning back to Odele, Elga’s stomach sank when she noticed that Odele was now standing in front of the mirror, studying her face intently. “Is everything okay?” Even as she asked the question she couldn’t help but wonder what Sarah had been whispering to Odele. “Do you think I look okay with my hair short like this?” Stunned by the unexpected inquiry, she said, “Why, Princess…” Elga had continued calling Odele “Princess” from her first day at Well Spring. “You look lovely.” She answered truthfully, admiring the soft, curling tendrils of hair surrounding Odele’s face. “I wish these thick waves would curl softly into wisps like yours,” Elga stated matter-of-factly, running her hands through her wiry red hair. “Oh…that…My hair curls like this because I’m Negro, you know? That’s why I’m here…because they found out I’m a Negro.… I hid it for a long time.… Now I don’t care.” Startled again, as much by the conversational tone as by the candidness of her revelation, Elga studied her intently. “Well, my dear, it seems we are sisters. I am also of color and, like it did with you, it finally came out. But it is just as well.… A body can live only so long with lies. Then you have to be set free or go insane.” Turning toward the nurse, Odele studied her intently with a long, appraising glance, to ascertain whether she was being made fun of. Finally settling on a decision she said, “I can hear your accent…but I didn’t think Jews were considered of color in America.” “We are considered different everywhere—but it is not only Jewish blood that runs through my veins. My father was

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African. Although I take after my mother in looks, there is also much of my father in me.” “Then we are sisters indeed.” Turning back toward the mirror, Odele gazed at her reflection with mixed feelings, having always placed great value on her appearance. She had allowed her vanity to push people away until she was alone and without allies. The reflection that stared back was not the unblemished beauty she had once so jealously guarded; instead, this reflection was marked by life’s harsh realities. With a pensive look she turned away from her reflection as the realization dawned on her that she would never again know the lure of a man to her beauty. Then she thought of Dr. Lyon and how he’d confided his repulsion toward her scarred visage to Sarah. Odele felt the weight of disappointment fill her as she accepted the beginning that would never be, forced now to accept a life of endings and loneliness. Elga stood by the door, studying the play of expressions on Odele’s face as though she were glued to the spot. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to be met with a conversation from Odele, let alone a confession. Noticing the stricken look on Odele’s face as she sat heavily in the chair by the window, Elga called her name, despite the obvious heaving of her shoulders and spasms of heart-wrenching cries. The older woman’s heart wrung with pity as she tried to console Odele, who seemed lost in an unnameable grief. This was the first time that she had openly displayed any emotion since her confinement. After several minutes passed Odele’s composure slipped further away, causing Elga to grow alarmed. Returning to her station, she paged Dr. Lyon over the intercom. When he arrived, Elga advised the doctor that she had summoned him for Odele Daniels. Dr. Lyon’s body tensed with alarm. Immediately, he dismissed the orderly and asked

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Elga to give him time to speak to her alone first before he decided on any action. Knocking gently on the door to Odele’s room, the doctor waited for her weak acknowledgment before letting himself in. As he approached the slim figure seated with her back toward him, Geoffrey had to do everything in his power not to put his arms around her and kiss the tears away from her eyes. Odele never glanced around; she continued to face the window, staring blindly out on a future that was as dark and impenetrable as the night; privately she mourned the loss of her life. Geoffrey Lyon, who had always cautiously avoided personal entanglements with either patients or coworkers, now found himself in a quandary. Somewhere over the last six months he had stumbled. In his therapy sessions with Odele he had been disarmed by her reticence to open up. Each day she’d listened tolerantly to his inquiries about her life and background. After six months he had gotten nowhere and began to discuss his background with her, anticipating that she would relax. Instead she’d listened attentively, eventually displaying a range of silent emotions according to his story. To his surprise, earlier that day she had broken her silence and laughed heartily at one of his anecdotes. Her unexpected reaction had singularly made his day…that is, until he’d received this distress call. Now, feeling as though he were some lovesick boy treading on thin ice to avoid rejection, he didn’t feel the self-assurance of being a respected physician dealing with an unbalanced patient. He pulled up a chair alongside her. “What happened to make you cry?” he asked tentatively. As he expected, she didn’t acknowledge his presence, although she stemmed the flow of tears and now hiccupped deep breaths in the aftermath of her outburst. Reaching over, he stroked her back lightly, in what he hoped was professional

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bedside manner. “It’s okay, Odele.… Everything is going to be okay,” he soothed. “How do you know—how can you say that and you really don’t know?” Eyes brimming with unshed tears, Odele looked at him intensely, searching for an answer. Astonished as much by her reaction as by her response, his shoulders slumped miserably. “I don’t know, Odele.… But, unlike you, I have faith and the belief that everything will turn out just fine.” “I once had faith…and hope.… Now—” tracing her fingers absently against the scar on her face “—I am just a disfigured hag with nowhere to go…confined against my will because I was forced to deceive people about my heritage so that I could be accepted for the talent that I possessed regardless of my race.” Disarmed by her admission, Geoffrey forgot his role as her doctor; gently, he placed the tips of his fingers on Odele’s face, turning her toward him. Tracing the scar from her mouth to her jawline, he stared into her eyes, his touch becoming a caress. “Scars on the outside heal and become interesting expressions of bygone experiences. It’s the scars on the inside that I want to heal.… Those are the dangerous ones, because they cannot be seen with the naked eye—they are perceived only through personal contact. I only want the scars on the inside to be healed. The outside looks perfectly fine to me, Odele. As for your confinement…you are free to leave if you desire.… If you have nowhere to go you are welcome to my cottage, since I rarely use it. Either way, the choice is yours.” He was no longer speaking as her psychiatrist; he was speaking as a man who loved a woman to the extent that he would do anything in his power to make her happy and keep her by his side, even if it meant giving her the freedom to leave him. For the first time Odele met his gaze head on, amazed at

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the depth of tenderness she saw. Taking his hand, she placed it upon her breast. “I am scarred here.… My pain has always been here, and there has never been an escape. I don’t want to leave now.… In time, however, I may take you up on your offer and move to the cottage—that is, if the offer continues to stand. I look at myself and the only thing of value I have ever possessed was my beauty, and now that is gone, too. Today…I accepted that fact and mourned the loss of what I once possessed.” Unable to stop himself, Geoffrey leaned forward and kissed Odele tenderly, inhaling her scent, reveling in her closeness. “You are beautiful…much more beautiful than you were in all the roles that you played.” Odele’s head snapped back like it was tethered to a pole. “You knew? Then why did you pretend to think I was Odele Daniels?” “Because you are Odele Daniels. Delia McKenzie was a bit part…a caricature that was devoid of any real feelings and emotion. As Delia you were unlovable, distant and angry.… I wasn’t certain about your identity until a month after your confinement. I have to admit that my interest was piqued the night Weinstein and Ziegler brought you in, trying to pass you off as a relative. I thought that, given time for you to heal, I would find out the truth, but then they were killed in the accident when they left. Two days later the suicide of your husband, Bobby Goodwin, and the mysterious disappearance of Delia McKenzie made headlines worldwide. I decided to be silent because I thought that you might still be in danger. Whoever had you committed hated you tremendously.” Now it was Odele’s turn to be too stunned to respond. Leaning back in the chair, she stared out the window onto the hospital grounds, trying to digest this revelation. Slowly rising to her feet, she walked across the room and unbuttoned the shift she wore, letting it drop unceremoniously to the floor.

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Without so much as a glance at Geoffrey, Odele climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up tightly under her chin and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. Knowing he had been summarily dismissed, Geoffrey exited the room, his anxiety level higher than it had ever been. Checking his watch, he headed for the only padded cell on the grounds to observe the new patient that he’d had retained there for the last two weeks. Although he checked on his progress daily, it concerned Dr. Lyon that he still could not authorize his release to the drug rehab ward. Maybe he would spend more time with that patient for the next few days—to figure out what was behind the psychosis and keep his mind off Odele at the same time. After all, he had his professional reputation to be concerned with and he knew hospital gossip was the worst. For weeks following Dr. Lyon’s visit, Odele feigned illness. Elga took the liberty of removing Odele from the therapy rotation, with the doctor’s consent, until she felt better. It seemed he recognized and respected the fact that Odele needed time to think through her emotional turmoil. Remaining ensconced in her room, she looked forward to Elga’s daily visits. Their conversations were tentative at the start because Elga was uncertain how to proceed with the recent change in Odele. Accustomed to confiding in Odele, Elga began to discuss her life as a single mother and how she had raised her grandson, Ronnie, an aspiring artist and assistant professor at UCLA. Enjoying the distraction, Odele listened quietly, fascinated by the transformation in Elga as she spoke of her grandson—her face brightened and she almost burst with pride. Odele looked forward to the time Elga was scheduled to arrive and the entertaining stories of Ronnie and the students he taught. Then one day Elga didn’t show up for work at her normal time. Despondent, Odele waited patiently in her room, staring at the door, waiting for the knock that signaled the

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nurse’s arrival, anticipating hearing how she’d been delayed. Odele’s impatience and anxiety grew with each passing hour, until she was no longer able to take her self-imposed exile and joined the other patients in the television room to pass the time. To her surprise, Elga was seated in the nurses’ station; her appearance was haggard, as though she hadn’t slept all night. Sitting in the television room, Odele studied Elga, who—obviously distracted—seemed to almost be fighting back tears. Unable to subdue her curiosity and disappointment in Elga’s behavior, Odele walked over to her. “Would you like to sit in my room until you collect yourself?” she inquired, speaking in a soft whisper. Without a backward glance Odele headed toward her room, leaving the door slightly ajar. A few minutes later Elga entered; each step seemed laborious, as though she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Odele offered her favorite, deep-cushioned chair to Elga and took a seat on the ottoman facing her. Waiting patiently, she allowed Elga to cleanse her pain through tears. Odele, who had never reached out for another person in her life, held the older woman tenderly, allowing her to release the pain until she was spent. Once Elga was calm enough to talk, Odele brought her a glass of water and returned to her seat on the ottoman. Holding the woman’s hands gently in hers, she listened quietly to the story that unfolded. Elga was distraught because her grandson had been accused of having an affair with one of his students. What made the situation worse was that the girl was just eighteen and Ronnie was in his twenties. He had been suspended pending an investigation, but the most upsetting part of the ordeal for Elga was that her grandson thought he was in love with the girl. He’d confided in Elga that he wanted to take her with him and leave the States to live in Europe. He felt it was the only way to pursue his art and keep his reputation intact.

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“It’s amazing how traits can be passed down from generation to generation. Ronnie is so much like his grandfather until sometimes it’s scary. We sometimes talk and for moments I feel suspended in time as I recall having had the same conversation with his grandfather.” “Well, that seems only natural, Elga. He probably admired his grandfather and subconsciously aspired to be like him.” “That’s just it—he’s never met him. He died long before Ronnie was born.” “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to Ronnie’s parents? How is it that you ended up raising him?” “My daughter, Maggie, is a free spirit. We had a hard life when she was small, moving constantly as I found odd jobs to support us. By the time we moved to L.A., she’d had her fill of struggle. My Maggie was a rare beauty so she used it to gain entrance with the “in” crowd. By the time she was fifteen, she was pregnant with my grandson. I didn’t see her for years—she started using drugs and following these rock groups.… She became a—what is the word?—a hippie. One day she showed up at my apartment with Ronnie, stoned out of her mind. I asked her to move back in, but she said she just needed some sleep and food. She ended up staying for three days. At the time I was working for County Hospital with Sarah—uh, Nurse Stevens.” Nodding her head in recognition, Odele waited for Elga to continue. “I left one morning to go to work and when I returned Maggie was gone and Ronnie was asleep in my bed. We’ve been together ever since.” It was as though the floodgates had opened for Elga as she told her story of hardship, sacrifice and loss, all to salvage what was left of her broken family. Her story served as a catalyst for Odele, helping her to heal and restoring her faith

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and ability to recognize God’s place in her life…even when she thought He had forgotten her. “Did you ever hear from your daughter again?” “Yes, as a matter of fact. Maggie is a yoga instructor and lives in Berkeley in the Haight-Ashbury district. Once a hippie, always a hippie, I guess. She and Ronnie are like siblings instead of mother and son.… So it’s not like he’s likely to listen to her. Even if I asked her, she’d probably encourage his idea.” “Well, my friend…it is not all bad. Ronnie has found a woman he loves, and eighteen is not illegal. Maybe he will go on and find his true talent.… Don’t discourage his dream or his decision to love. If they don’t work, then he will always have you there. He knows that you love him and that you’ll always be there. You will never lose him. It’s funny, sometimes a child is most unappreciative of motherly love. I am speaking from experience—not as the mother but as the child. I always felt a sense of entitlement and didn’t understand until now that I was fortunate to have a mother who loved me to the best of her ability. After listening to you tell of your love for a child and grandchild that you did not bring into the world but loved as though you had for the sake of perpetuating your family, I realize the love and sacrifice of my own mother.… For that I will be forever thankful to you, my friend.” For the first time since her confinement, Odele considered the past and how she’d unknowingly been on a path of selfdestruction. Had she not been committed six months ago, she knew that it would have happened eventually—and later may have been too late. Now she embraced the possibility of transformation on all levels. Her first step was to find the girl Odele and heal her—to become the woman Odele. As time passed she saw that life still held some blessings for her. More important, however, was the realization that her

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blessings would not come from past experiences but instead from future opportunities and friendships. For the first time since she was a young girl, Odele felt a sense of resolve and freedom, as though she had discovered the key to her shackles. She returned to her therapy sessions with Dr. Lyon, whom she now casually referred to as Geoffrey, allowing him to minister to her mental wounds. She sought God to heal her internal spiritual scars. Once the miracle of faith had been restored, she stood on strong legs, bruised from the battle but not broken. As promised, Odele took Geoffrey up on his offer to move into his cottage— however, it was not as his patient but as his wife and as a drug counselor in the Well Spring Institute. Dr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Lyon looked forward to a new life and left the past and all its problems locked firmly behind them.

EDDIE

Chapter 28

A fter the disappearance of Delia and the deaths of her husband and her agent, Eddie lost all hope of ever finding her alive. As months passed and the trail grew cold, he went to Ana for comfort. As he expected, she was remorseful, but Ana and Odele had never had a relationship even though they had the same parents. Concerned about her brother’s welfare, Ana and Mignon moved into Eddie’s West Hollywood Hills home to keep him company and help him come to terms with Odele’s disappearance and the possibility of her demise. For several weeks the three were inseparable. Then Ana, disconcerted by Eddie’s increasing desire to stay intoxicated and drown his pain, decided on a course of action that she knew would get her beloved brother back on track. Never one to wallow in misery, she definitely didn’t intend to stand by and watch him drown. Days after receiving the papers from her attorney finalizing her

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divorce, Ana received a call from her agent, Sammy Martine, with a deal for her return to Paris to revive her career. After hanging up the phone with her agent, she went in search of Eddie. She wanted him to come with her for a change of scenery—and hopefully, a change in attitude. To her dismay, when she found him he was in his usual position: sitting on the chaise lounge by the pool and nursing a tumbler of Jack Daniels. “Damn—I was hoping I wouldn’t find you drinking this early!” Ana exclaimed unapologetically. “Hey, Blackgal.… Wha’s shakin’?” “Me, if you think for one minute I’m hanging around while you stay drunk and lose everything for something you couldn’t control! Odele has always been able to take care of herself, Eddie…and it’s not the first time she’s dropped out of sight.” “Come on, Ana! Stop being so damned hard.… I know you don’t really feel anything—but she didn’t ‘just’ drop out a sight! Shit.… I can’t take this.… I need to be able to talk to someone and it seems they’re all dead or like you—don’t give a damn!” He got up and went inside to the bar. Startled by his response, Ana followed him. Eddie had never spoken to her in that tone—in fact, it was always the opposite: Ana was the one who was known for unabashedly speaking her mind. Eddie had nicknamed her style “straight with no chaser.” “Eddie, I do care—but I also know you are combining the loss of Sofia with the disappearance of Odele. We don’t even know for certain if it’s a tragedy. And if it is, we need to mourn her and put it behind us, not let it destroy us.” Sitting down next to him, she told him about the opportunity to return to Paris, inviting him to come along. “Awright, Blackgal.… Book the flight.… I gotta get this behind me.”

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Ana gently took the glass from his fingers and placed it gingerly on the bar. “It’s time to leave Jack alone. You’ve got a company that you haven’t been capable of running and it’s time to put your business in order. When’s the last time you spoke with Cam?” “I haven’t.… Something’s not right with that cat.” “Well, that has always been obvious to me—I just assumed you overlooked it because of the business.” “Naw, baby. Not the way you think.… I could care less about that shit! I’m man enough to know where I stand. The cat was always cool with me—been through more than you could imagine.” “So, since I’m wrong, what is the problem? Let’s face it, you have been partners for a long time.” “When I found the note from Odele, I went to his crib to see if he could help. Cam has connections all over so I asked him to make a few calls. Man…he started talking jive about how I should let it go, how she had reaped what she sowed. For a minute I thought he’d lost his damn mind.… Matter of fact, I told him so.” “What did he say?” “Say? He didn’t say a damn thing. He smiled at me…then laughed like it was the funniest shit he’d heard. I left so I wouldn’t kill the cat. I don’t want nothing to do with him or the business. So you see, Blackgal…it’s a lot deeper than you think. We’ve lost a sister and my partner has lost his damn mind! Anyway, I’ve already made up my mind to pull out. Lock, stock and barrel. He can have it all!” Ana sat down heavily adjacent to her brother on the leather sofa, planting her fingers in her Afro and slowly massaging her scalp, attempting to release the growing tension. Their lives were falling apart piece by piece and she had no idea how to make it better. Ana loved her brother with all her

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heart and couldn’t stand seeing him like this. On top of that, she had her own demons to battle. Newly divorced, she was returning to Paris, a place she had not stepped foot in since her daughter was conceived in the early 60s, eleven years ago by the love of her life, Pierre. At the time she’d left Paris, no one knew of her condition. Her departure had been unplanned; she left on the heels of reading about Pierre’s engagement to a socialite in the society column. Ana was dealing with the repercussions of divorce, and her daughter, Mignon, had become withdrawn because Clark—the man she believed was her biological father—had moved to Manhattan Beach and was passing. It was too much to deal with at one time. Extending her hand, she pulled Eddie to his feet. “Let’s walk.… We’ll think better with our blood circulating!” “Blackgal…only you would say some crazy shit like that. I think just fine sitting down.… Anyway, where’s Noni?” “That’s where we’re walking. She went hiking on the cliff over an hour ago.” “Yeah? Awright, then…” As they made their way into the hilly terrain, Eddie looked over at his sister. “Blackgal, let’s take Angel with us to Paris. She’s grown now, so we won’t have to get Julius’s permission.” Looking inquisitively at her brother and surprised by his suggestion, she nodded her head in agreement. “Okay. If you think she’ll come. You know, since he had the accident, Angel never agrees to leave the house. I’ve invited her over more times than I can count since Sofia’s death to spend time with Mignon so they could know each other—after all, they’re cousins. But each time she’s made excuses not to come.” “Yeah, baby.… I’ve never understood that either. Anyway, maybe that’s why Angel hung so close to home, she’s probably felt indebted to Julius. She’s sacrificed a lot.… But

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on the other hand, her art has opened doors for her. That may not have happened if she’d been out like a normal teen.” “Okay, I give. It’s just that—like you—I’ve carried a little guilt about Sofia’s death with me all of these years. It could have as easily been me…if you hadn’t pushed me out of the way.” Glancing up, Ana spied Mignon perched atop a large rock, looking out over the arroyo. “Eddie, whistle so she’ll hear you and come down.” Putting two fingers between his lips Eddie whistled loudly as Ana waved her arms. They stood and waited for her to join them. Walking back to the house Eddie told Mignon of their plans to invite Angel to travel to Paris with them. “I don’t know why, Unc.… She’s not gonna come. She’ll just make an excuse like she always does.” Eddie and Ana exchanged surprised glances; they had not expected Mignon’s response. “Either way, I’m not that excited about going,” she added. “I’ll call and make the reservations,” Ana said. “Eddie, you call Angel. Maybe you’ll get a more favorable reply than we would.” Two days later Eddie stopped by Cam’s to let him know of his decision to sell out his shares to Fournier & Son. The next day, Eddie, Ana and Mignon were leaving for Paris.

CAM

Chapter 29

Cam wandered aimlessly through his home—Sofia’s home, the temple he had designated as hers. Even after all of these years he had never allowed anyone to visit, with one exception: Eddie. It seemed only fitting that he should be allowed entry, although he was never given access beyond the living room. Thankfully, Eddie was nonchalant about most things and had never expressed an interest in touring his unusual home. Cam recognized that Eddie had detected his dubious sexuality and had settled on maintaining an established rapport that could never be misconstrued. Little did Eddie know that Cam’s greatest desire had been to have Eddie as his brother-in-law and uncle to his child. He knew that, should Eddie ever wander into the garden, he would have recognized the monument he’d had duplicated and placed at Sofia’s gravesite. Now, after fulfilling his desire for revenge, Cam felt an almost overwhelming despondency that he could not

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overcome. Instead of the joy and sense of peace that he’d expected to feel, he felt empty. For years he had planned the downfall and suffering of Delia and Julius. Of the two, Julius had been much easier prey, wrongly assuming that moving to a gated community had offered him protection. It was his greatest mistake; Cam had been patient and had waited for a couple of years after Sofia’s death. When Julius had least expected something to happen, his brake line had been disconnected and the accident that resulted left him a paraplegic. For a time, Cam’s spirits lifted considerably, and he began to piece together his plan for Delia. But for some reason, he didn’t have the sense of satisfaction that he’d expected. He had covered all of his bases and rid himself of each accomplice, so there was no chance of discovery. But Cam’s biggest mistake was not realizing that when you live your life pursuing the demise of your enemy, you then become your own worst enemy. Consequently, the plans of your enemy’s destruction become the weapons of your own. So it was with Cam—now, with nothing and no one left to hate, to destroy, he was left to confront the person he hated most in the world…himself. Had Cam planted seeds of love or even forgiveness he would have had a bountiful harvest to look forward to.… But instead, his future was as barren as his past. Eddie had not spoken to Cam in more than six months— not since Cam had alienated him as he’d confided the chain of events surrounding Delia’s disappearance. Cam regretted severing the only relationship he’d had that had bordered on brotherly camaraderie. In his desire for revenge he had sealed the door to the very source that he’d wanted to maintain and keep open. Not only had Eddie cut all ties with him, he had not shown up at the studio in over a month. Disconcerted, Cam had driven to Eddie’s house, intending to make amends

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until he’d seen Ana’s car parked out front. Instead of stopping, he’d turned around in the drive and headed back to the solitude of his home. After several weeks had passed and still no word from Eddie, the full realization of his actions and the repercussions of his quest for revenge hit him. Unable to halt the momentum, Cam fell into a depression unlike anything he’d ever experienced after receiving word from his doctor that he had contracted a disease that seemed to plague only gay men. Not much was known about it according to his doctor, except of course that he would soon die a painful and horrible death. While sitting in his living room the realization hit him that it was almost forty years since 1941; Cam’s world again had been irreversibly shaken. Cam realized he no longer had a viable future. The gap in the years seemed inconsequential when he considered he had spent that time fueled by hate and seeking revenge. The forty years between youth and adulthood encompassed the figurative and the literal ending of life.… The catch from the trapdoor slipped and the door to his sanity slammed shut. Death had come to claim Cam as repayment for the vengeance he had sought and exacted upon those he was not fit to judge. Walking over to the bar, Cam filled a snifter with brandy, holding it gently over a flame until its fragrance filled the room. Sitting in front of the fireplace, he studied the numbers tattooed on his forearm as he listened to David Ruffin sing “I Wish It Would Rain.” Smiling, he stared and spoke to the empty room. “Wir werden sehen, wer der sweetmeat jetzt ist…gewonnen’t wir.” We will see who the sweetmeat is now…won’t we. “Ach Ernst, wenn nur wir uns jetzt getroffen hatten.” Oh Ernst, if only we had met now. “Wenn nur ich Sie meinen Kameraden schicken könnte…nur für eine Nacht am Haus der Spiele.” If only I could send you to my comrades…just

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for one night at the House of Games. “Sie und Adolf… Roehm und Hitler.… die zwei der am größten seltsam in Deutschland.” You and Adolf…Roehm and Hitler.… the two biggest queers in Germany. “Ich nicht mehr Verschleiß Ihre Zahlen…auf meiner Haut oder in meinem Herz.” I no longer wear your numbers…on my skin or in my heart. With a smile and a salute Cam popped a tab of acid and drank the brandy with a couple of gulps. Still staring into the fire, he withdrew the razor from the sheath like a blind man reliant on the sensation of touch, intent on removing the brand that had almost faded into the density of his dark skin. Without a second thought he sliced through the layer of skin until the numbers were removed and the white meat exposed. Flinching imperceptibly, he looked down at the missing flesh and waited until the shock of loss hit his nerve endings and signaled the release of blood. Staring at his arm, Cam broke into a large, self-satisfied grin at the missing numbers. Fascinated at the way the blood seem to spring from the exposed skin, he took his finger and began to write on his clothes, the furniture, the walls: Well Spring…Well Spring…Well Spring. Cam never heard the insistent ringing of the doorbell; he didn’t hear Eddie banging on the window, his face ashen as he took in the scene. Even when the police knocked down his door, although he struggled toward the surface of conscious awareness he couldn’t respond intelligibly. Eddie stood by, in shock at the scene and the loss of blood; at first he was uncertain whether Cam had attempted to slit his wrist. It was the ambulance driver who recognized and understood the meaning of Well Spring. Waving to Eddie, he inquired, “Should we take him to Well Spring Institute?” “What is it? “A place for rich people who have these types of habits,”

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the driver stated, pointedly looking around the room. “This guy was definitely on a bad trip.” “Yeah, take him there.… Just write down the address so I know where it’s at.” “Done, man. He’ll get the best care offered and no one will ever have to know.” The driver, named Tom, hurriedly wrote the address to Well Spring on the back of Eddie’s card. Without glancing at it, Eddie placed the card in his pocket and walked over to Cam to see if he was coherent enough to speak. Cam lay on the gurney, a thin stream of drool running from the corner of his mouth as he spoke in his native tongue—another shock for Eddie, who had only ever heard him speak in the proper tones of English. The ambulance driver recognized the signs of shock in Eddie’s face and asked if he’d like to ride along to View Park Community Hospital, where Cam would be monitored for blood loss and bandaged before they transported him to Well Spring. Eddie declined, insisting he’d prefer to follow in his car. After conferring with the emergency room physician, Eddie learned that Cam’s state had in fact been induced by the psychedelic drug LSD. To Eddie’s surprise, the physician confided that Cam’s bloodstream was also riddled with a mixture of amphetamines and barbiturates. At this revelation, Eddie signed the release form authorizing Cam’s commitment to the Well Spring drug treatment center. Unable to deal with the macabre scene, Eddie left Cam awaiting transport to Well Spring. Recalling his conversation with Ana, he remembered that he’d snidely joked that Cam had lost his mind. He’d had no idea that he’d be right.… For this reason, he could no longer harbor any anger toward this man who had treated him like

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a beloved younger brother or a son. So Eddie made certain that Cam would be cared for. Somehow, the ordeal with Cam put the way he had dealt with Delia’s disappearance in perspective. He knew he had to get himself on the right track; either way, he had to come to terms with not being able to locate Delia. Eddie decided that when he returned from Paris, he would take the steps necessary to help Cam regain some semblance of sanity. Driving back home, Eddie felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. Praying out loud, he called on Jehovah-Jirah, his provider…Jehovah-Rophe, his healer…Jehovah-Tsidkenu, the Lord of Righteousness, until his soul felt at peace. Eddie was not a man of tears and outcry. He was a man who loved and honored God, not in religion or tradition but by his acts. He fought against flesh and the world, not by running from it but walking through it. Like in the valley and the shadow of death, he did not fear evil, because he knew firsthand that Jehovah-Shammah—the Lord is there. Cam was admitted to Well Spring and spent the first month in a straitjacket as the hallucinogens wore out of his system. Dr. Lyon had never treated a patient going through a narcoticinfluenced withdrawal who’d experienced the same degree of psychotic episodes as Cam did. Consequently, Cam was not allowed into the mainstream population. Instead, he was isolated in a ward for recovering drug abusers who displayed schizophrenic or violent behavior patterns. Even after his body no longer craved the drugs or showed any signs of dependency, he was still held in solitary confinement. Each time an attendant came into the padded room, Cam thought Ernst Roehm had entered. Depending upon his mental state at the time, he would either freeze with fear and soil himself or attack the attendant, gnashing and biting the air like a rabid dog. After discovering Cam, Eddie postponed his trip to Paris.

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Instead he returned to Fournier & Son and began to devise a plan for his future. He knew that once Cam was released from treatment, there would be no way for the partnership to continue. For several weeks after Cam had been committed to Well Spring, Eddie made several attempts to schedule a visit. But each time he was persuaded by Dr. Lyon to wait. The doctor explained Cam’s condition, indicating that it may be a lengthy period of time before Cam would be ready to accept visitors. With no other option, Eddie took comfort in believing that Cam was at least in competent hands. Whenever the call came informing him that Cam was well enough for visitors, then he would come. Until then, Eddie had the bills for treatment sent directly to him for payment. It was the least he could do for a man who’d done so much for him. When Eddie finally arrived in Paris, it was only to learn that Ana’s show had been indefinitely postponed and that she was sailing from England back to the States. Having time on his hands, Eddie explored Paris, enjoying the sights, scents, sounds and tastes. In the taxi to the airport he was shocked to see a life-size billboard featuring Zuri. He couldn’t believe his eyes, or the emptiness that followed when he thought of the space that had remained unfulfilled in his life since they’d last seen each other. In the span of a few years she’d come to Paris and taken it by storm.

EDDIE

Chapter 30

Waiting impatiently in front of the high school for her uncle Eddie, Mignon watched for the approach of the blue RollsRoyce Cornice convertible to pull to the curb. Standing by the front gates, she surreptitiously glanced around, knowing that all eyes were on her. It was 1975, and at seventeen years old Mignon was a force to be reckoned with. Standing almost six feet tall, she was often mistaken for being much older. Noticing the approach of his car she walked to the curb, waving so he would see her. Hmmm, she thought. This’ll give them something to talk about. The kids at her school constantly teased Mignon about the way she looked because of her height, keen features and wavy hair, which were not characteristics to be proud of in the mid-seventies. Never quite able to fit in, she had been unable to convince people she was black enough to fit, so she quit trying. Instead Mignon decided that if she couldn’t fit in,

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then she would stand out. In order to accomplish her goal, she latched on to her uniqueness, mimicking the looks and haughtiness of Ebony magazine models like the inimitable Pat Cleveland and Zuri, imagining that one day she would become a Fashion Fair model. As the car pulled up to the curb she made a show of sitting down, swinging her long legs gracefully into the car, closing the door soundly, leaning over and kissing her uncle on the cheek. Eddie was now a local celebrity to African Americans because he owned the hippest nightclub on the Crenshaw strip—Delia’s Place—and the trendy fashion line of Fournier & Son. Delia’s Place had been the only rival to pit itself against both Maverick’s Flat and the Total Experience Nightclub and come out on top. He had a formula that worked: Delia’s was a three-story complex, the first of its kind to hit Los Angeles, and the only private nightclub owned by a black man. It was unheard of for a black-owned establishment to also be private. Consequently, his staff were often tested by both black and white alike. Despite their attempts to thwart the staff’s efforts, he had a strict code ensuring that only members or those invited by Eddie gained entrance to Delia’s. When the doors to Delia’s first opened, it immediately gained notoriety as the most exclusive nightclub in L.A. It was frequented by every high-profile politician, entertainer or athlete living in or visiting L.A., and Jet magazine made it a point to do weekly photo shoots, often printing an “as seen at Delia’s” spotlight. The main level of the venue had a classy supper club, the top level featured live entertainment and impromptu acts by the hottest music groups in R&B, and the lower level was blue-light, in-the-basement bump and grind at its best. The best seat in the house in this level was known as BBCD, or “booth in the back in a corner in the dark.” When her classmates discovered she was the niece of the Eduardo

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Fournier of Delia’s, known internationally not only for his line of clothing but also for shocking America when they found out he was a black man, Mignon’s popularity and acceptance went from abysmal to soaring. But for Mignon, it was too little, too late. She had no use for their acceptance and made a point of ignoring any overtures of friendship…except those from several girls whom she considered her true friends. Now, sliding into the car and giving Eddie a kiss and a tight hug around the neck, she said, “Hey, Unc!” “Favoright! How was your day?” Eddie had called Mignon by this name for as long as she could remember. “Solid, Unc!” She had looked forward to Friday all week, tirelessly trying to convince her mother, Ana, to let her spend the entire weekend over at Uncle Eddie’s house instead of just a night. She could still hear her mother’s terse reply: “Not just no, but hell no. You know I love my brother, but I’m not about to expose you to his lifestyle…not at your age.” What her mother didn’t know was that despite her warnings, Mignon already knew the rumors about the parade of women. “So where are we going today?” she asked. “I thought I’d take you and Angel to a record release party for a new R&B group at the Roxy Theatre this evening.” Mignon could not believe her ears—and then she thought about her mother. “Did you check with Mom?” “Yeah…it’s cool with her. She and Richard are going out so I’m your babysitter.” “Ya-hoo! Can we go shopping?” “I’m already one step ahead of you.… I’m just gonna swing by and pick up Angel and we’ll head to Rodeo.” Not able to believe her luck, Mignon squealed in excitement. No one would believe she’d actually attended a record

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release party, let alone gone shopping on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills for an entire outfit. Eddie smiled as he pulled into Angel’s driveway and saw her cousin, Ginger, peeking through the window, waving shyly. He had never seen a child whose name more accurately described her appearance: her skin was the same deep reddish brown as the spice—even her hair was the same warm red. The only incongruity was her green eyes. Eddie was surprised when he’d first met the child, as she looked nothing like what he would expect from Julius’s family. Waving back at her, he made a mental note to bring back a gift for her; he’d check with Angel to find out what she liked. Eddie still marveled at the fact that Julius had taken Angel and raised her as his own after Sofia’s death. Although Eddie’s initial instincts had warned him against Julius, he would always be grateful for the way he had cared for his niece. On top of that, almost six years ago, some family tragedy had left Julius with the responsibility of his infant niece, Ginger, whom he’d raised from infancy. Much to his credit, Julius had raised his niece along with Angel. This was all despite being the victim of a car crash that had left him a paraplegic and requiring the care of a nurse around the clock. Even now Eddie was certain Angel was making sure all was in order before she left for the evening. Eddie could see that Mignon was getting antsy for the evening to begin—she had her hand on the door handle before the car came to a complete stop. Then Angel appeared at the front door, holding up a finger, indicating she’d be a minute or two longer. At twenty-five Angel was a knockout; she looked so much like her mother, Sofia, that it was sometimes bittersweet being in her presence. Switching the radio station, Mignon tuned in to her favorite station, KJLH, mimicking the deejay: “You are listening

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to the soulful sounds of KJLH…Kindness, Joy, Love and Happiness!” “Please play ‘Sweet Thang’! Hey, Unc, you hip to Chaka Khan?” “Yeah baby, I’m hip.… I dig her.” As Mignon and Eddie discussed their favorite songs, they looked up to see Angel embracing Ginger, kissing her soundly on the cheek. Rushing out to the car, Angel squealed in glee as Mignon got out and the cousins hugged excitedly. Angel beamed good-naturedly when Mignon told her of their plans. “Let’s roll—I have to get you two ladies ready for tonight,” Eddie urged, knowing that they would never make it on time if they continued to delay—and he really wanted to see this new group. As expected, the cousins took their usual seats side by side in the rear, and he became the chauffeur. Funny, the two are as close as if they were sisters, he thought, especially since Angel had been coming around less than three years. “Where are we headed, Unc?” Angel inquired. “Nowhere in particular.… I thought you two might find something on Rodeo.” “Uh, would you mind taking us to Hollywood instead? I want to take Noni to Fred Segal’s.… That’s where all the stars get their outfits.” “Ooh, I want to go there!” Mignon chimed in enthusiastically. “Then Fred Segal’s it is! You should know…being a star yourself!” “Still feels like a dream, Unc. Even after all this time.” “That’s what makes you you, baby.… You take it, but you don’t let it take you. My niece, the famous artist.” “Yeah!” Mignon chimed in. “I just read in this new magazine named People that Andy Warhol and Peter Max

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both are fans of your work! They both own originals by the Angel.” Mignon was so proud of her cousin’s accomplishment that she almost burst with pride. Blushing in spite of herself, Angel floated on the adoration she received from Mignon; it was like communion—she could always find unbiased love and acceptance. Arriving at Fred Segal’s, the trio agreed that Angel had been right. The two found everything they needed for the evening. Even Eddie changed into what the girls decided was a more suitable look for the party. In the future, Eddie would include Fred Segal’s as one of his preferred shops. Not accustomed to the new denim-jean look, he’d held out until today from incorporating jeans into his wardrobe. His idea of casual was still an expensive pair of slacks and a cashmere or silk pullover sweater. He noticed the glances of approval as they exited the store. Both girls were statuesque and had chosen hot-pants with over-the-knee boots, bell-sleeved pirate shirts and vests that matched their shorts. Angel wore a skyblue suede outfit with studs and Mignon had chosen denim with seemingly thousands of rhinestones. He jokingly referred to her as Liberace. The trio walked out pleased with their new looks; returning to the car, they headed up Sunset Boulevard to the Roxy Theatre. As the Rolls-Royce pulled in front of the entrance to the nightclub, Mignon reached across the seat to squeeze Angel’s hand. Both were nervous with excitement—the fans almost surrounded the car, thinking they were part of some girl group. Just before they could move to open the car door, Eddie turned and signaled for them to sit still. As if on cue, a red carpet was rolled to the curb and a doorman stepped forward to open the doors. Excitedly exchanging glances with each other and their uncle, they stepped onto the red

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carpet. When Angel appeared from the car, fans began to call her name and move in. This was much more than either had expected. Joining them on the red carpet, Eddie held his arms slightly away from his body and his nieces locked their arms through his. Leading them past a long line of guests who were presenting invitations for admittance, Eddie walked directly to a side door that seemed to magically open. This time the two girls did not look at each other—instead, they stared straight ahead, enchanted by the room they were entering. It was decorated like a harem: the ceiling was draped with fine silk cloth in jewel tones, and instead of the traditional table and chairs, Turkish carpets lined with pillows were placed around the entire room. Waiters were dressed like Turkish attendants and the waitresses were dressed like belly dancers and harem girls. “Close your mouths, girls, something may fly in,” Eddie commented, amused by their reactions. Again Eddie noticed the response of the crowd to the pair as he led them through the main room. They were both striking, and it was clear they were related. Mignon mimicked Angel, who had assumed a haughty air of sophistication. Just like Sophia and Odele, he thought—the youngest looking up to the oldest. Eddie was privately thankful that as cousins Angel and Mignon did not display the animosity or deadly chemistry that had existed between his sisters. As they made their way across the room he introduced them to a diminutive man whose blond shag and mustache seemed to be glued on. They could barely hear over the noise of the crowd or the music but it was apparent that the man and their uncle were good friends. After a brief conversation he led them through an alcove to a private VIP booth where guests were already seated at small tables of three and four. As they took their seats Mignon looked around the booth to see if any celebrities were seated

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nearby. To her surprise, she was seated in close proximity to several legendary rock and R&B singers. No longer able to contain her curiosity, Mignon leaned over. “Uncle Eddie, who is performing? Why are so many people here?” “A new act called Spice.… They’re from Florence, Italy, and they’re black.” “Oh,” Mignon replied trying to conceal her disappointment. Unlike Mignon, Angel was lost in her own thoughts and never noticed the guests who occupied the nearby tables. Even if she had, it probably wouldn’t have affected her response. She was trying to build her courage to tell her uncle and cousin of perhaps the most important decision of her life. But at the moment she was enjoying the opportunity to be in this environment. Angel enjoyed these outings with her uncle and younger cousin, so it was with regret that she’d have to tell them goodbye. Knowing she would never change the choice she’d made, Angel waited for the show to begin. “Unc, I’ve heard of a new drink called a tequila sunrise—would you like to try one?” “No, baby”—he signaled for the waitress. “Yessir, what would you like to drink?” “Jack Daniels, water back, no ice, two tequila sunrises, one virgin.” Turning back to Mignon he winked, knowing how much she hated feeling left out. The waitress returned almost immediately with the drinks. Tasting the bittersweet drink, Mignon smiled her approval as they sat companionably making small talk. This is my family now, thought Eddie. They are all I have right now… Eddie’s sister Ana had remarried, to Eddie’s surprise and pleasure. Ana’s husband, Richard, was a man’s man and took

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care of his wife and family. So now Eddie looked out for his nieces. When he had almost given up on getting to know Angel it seemed that almost overnight she’d reappeared, bigger than life, as the hottest new sensation in the art world since Peter Max. As time passed they had grown as close as Angel would allow. Although she treated Eddie with a genuine fondness, Angel maintained an arm’s-length distance with seemingly everyone except Mignon. Studying Angel intently, he was certain that something was amiss with her tonight, although she went to a great effort to hide it. Eddie had been through enough to know when things weren’t clicking and he could only hope that Angel would have enough confidence to tell him. Since her mother, Sofia, was killed in front of her as a child, Angel had been very self-contained and introspective. Over the last three years, she had begun to relax whenever she was with Eddie and Mignon. However, much had changed since she’d been discovered and received critical acclaim for her psychedelic renderings with urban undertones. Angel’s art crossed racial boundaries and caused her meteoric rise in the art world. “Remarkable” would best describe it. Now Eddie felt with a certainty that many things were about to change with Angel. Glancing up from his drink, Eddie was caught off guard by her close scrutiny. “What’s shakin’, Smooth?” he asked nonchalantly. Smiling dreamily, she seemed to break free of the spell. “Nothing, Unc.… Everything is cool.” Mignon was caught up in the thrill of the crowd, which had begun to chant Spice! Spice! Spice! Angel leaned closer and said, “We need to talk later…when we get back to the house.” “Cool, baby.… I could tell something was on your mind.… You’re okay, right?”

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“Right.… I just hope you will be, too…” Picking up his drink, Eddie glanced around the room to find the waiter and signaled for a refill. Turning back toward the stage, his eyes caught and locked onto a figure seated at the table in front of theirs. Calmly putting down his drink, Eddie stood and walked over to the table. Without waiting to be acknowledged he placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder to make certain she wasn’t an apparition. Glancing up from her conversation, the woman stared at Eddie in genuine astonishment. “You left me hanging, baby.… I thought you were Queen of the Nile…a professional.… But you just vanished—and now you reappear in this harem?” Feeling the heat beneath her skin, Zuri looked at him in surprise, shrugging her shoulders. “Mmmm, the way I remember it, the Queen of the Nile was dethroned by the Queen of Iceland. So I had no choice but to get on my flying carpet and head for another adventure.” “That’s where you’re wrong. You were never dethroned…never forgotten and never replaced.” Eddie caressed the side of her face with his fingers, looking earnestly into her eyes. He realized that he spoke the truth, although he had not until this point admitted the impact that Zuri’s disappearance had had on him. Meeting his eyes, Zuri turned back to her friends. Apologetically, she excused herself, rising to her feet. “I think we should have a drink and catch up. We both have obviously been mistaken about a lot of things.” “Obviously.… The bar is right this way. Give me a sec, I need to go tell my nieces where I’ll be.” Seeing the shadow fall over her gaze, Eddie grabbed Zuri’s hand. “Come on.… I’ll introduce you.” When they arrived at the table he saw the surprise register

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in her eyes. “Zuri…meet my nieces, Angel Anerson and Mignon Patton.” “Hello,” the two echoed. “Hello.… Angel, I must tell you that I’m a fan of yours! As a matter of fact I purchased The Runway. You’re a deep sister—when I saw the scrawny black girl strutting on the ghetto sidewalk pretending she was on a runway in Paris, I had to own it. You captured the image and essence of my childhood.” As Zuri spoke, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, I get choked up whenever I think of that portrait.” Turning toward Mignon, Zuri smiled appreciatively. “Mignon, you are striking.… How old are you, fifteen, sixteen?” “I’m almost eighteen,” Mignon responded, insulted. Noticing her sullen response, Zuri continued, “Boy, Eddie you didn’t tell me your nieces were an artist and prospective model!” “She is an artist, but I’m not a model, runway or otherwise,” stated Mignon matter-of-factly. “Pity, then. You are striking enough.… How tall, six feet?” “Yes, exactly.” “Well, if you’re ever interested in modeling, have your uncle let me know.… I would love to be responsible for introducing you to the world of fashion.” Recognition dawning on her face, Mignon exclaimed, “You’re the Zuri?” “Yes, I used to work for your uncle—that is, until he fired me!” Looking at Eddie, she laughed teasingly as he tried to explain to Mignon, who seemed too shocked for words. “Unc! You’ve got to be kidding—Zuri is the reason I subscribed to Mademoiselle and Vogue! She is the black Penelope Tree.… Ohmygosh! Would you? I mean, I have always dreamed of being a model—would you introduce me?”

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“Okay, ladies, I hate to break this up but Z and I are going to the bar to have a drink and catch up on old times.… How about you come and get me when Spice finishes—that is, if it’s okay with you?” “Sure its okay, we’re both grown,” Mignon stated empathetically. “Go on, have a good time, we’ll tell you what you missed! How about it, Angel?” “Sure, I think it’s a great idea, Unc. See you later.” As Eddie and Zuri walked away, Mignon turned to Angel. “Okay, now let’s order a real drink.” “Cool, cuz. Waiter, two more tequila sunrises!” After the waiter returned with their drinks, Angel stood up, excusing herself. “Hang tight.… Gotta go to the restroom, I’ll be back in a few!” Mignon sat sipping her drink, smiling flirtatiously at a handsome man who appeared to be in his early twenties; the night had turned out better than expected. When she glanced up at Angel’s return, her cousin seemed different in a way she couldn’t place. “Angel, who is that guy over there?” she inquired, eyeing him surreptitiously. “Oh…His name is Nigel and his friend is Ian.… They just bought me a drink! They work at the new gallery down the street and we met last week at my showing. You mind if I invite them over?” “No…it’s okay with me.” Boldly, Angel got up and crossed the room; grabbing the guy by the hand, she spoke to him for a few moments before leading them both back to the table. “Mignon, this is Nigel and Ian.… Nigel, Ian, my cousin Mignon.” “Hey, Mignon. Care to dance?” said Ian. “Sure.” Mignon watched in surprise as Angel grabbed Nigel’s hand and began dancing with wild abandon. Is this what the

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club scene is like? she wondered. The deejay seemed to blend one song into the other, playing one hit after another; Mignon danced so long that when she decided to take a break her clothes were soaked through. Returning to her table alone after brushing Ian off, Mignon ordered another drink and studied her cousin, almost embarrassed by her shameless display with these men. Taking a sip from her drink, she focused on the stage as the emcee, a local comedian, introduced the group called Spice. Just before the curtain was raised Angel returned with Nigel and Ian in tow. Irritated that Angel would continue to let these creeps hang around, Mignon pretended to ignore them. She was not prepared for the drastic metamorphosis that had seemed to come over Angel since their uncle had left. Usually she was very self-contained, never over the top like she was at this moment. Not certain at how to react to her overanimated conversation, Mignon turned her back and focused on the stage as the group appeared in a puff of smoke. Mignon had never heard music like this before; the bass was strong and driving, causing her to feel the vibrations in her chest. The lead singer was the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on and he seemed to be looking at her. Forgetting Angel and her friends, Mignon listened to Spice and fell in love. While Angel flirted with Nigel, Mignon was trying to concoct a plan to meet the lead singer without appearing to be a groupie. Song after song, she sat entranced, her body swaying in time to the music. When the set ended she could not believe that they had performed for over an hour. Joining in with the rest of the crowd, she cheered for them to return for an encore. After the third call back the emcee returned and the lights were turned up, indicating that the concert was in fact over. Mignon made a show of standing, hoping this would persuade Angel to straighten up and Nigel and his friend to leave.

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“Come on, Angel. Unc will be looking for us…” She let her voice trail off. “He’s gonna have to find us.… I can’t move my legs.” Mignon noticed a play of expressions cross Nigel’s face as he glanced at his friend. “You’re here with someone?” “Yes, our uncle.” The two men exchanged glances again and excused themselves from the table. “Angel…what’s the matter? Are you on something?” “No! Nigel bought me a drink…guess it was too strong.” She glanced around as if in a fog. “Where is Nigel?” she inquired in a whiny tone. Sitting back down, Mignon grew quiet and waited on her uncle’s return, knowing that it wouldn’t bode well for either of them. Angel had screwed up.… But she was a woman, so it wasn’t like she’d get in trouble. Once their uncle found out Mignon had been drinking and saw Angel’s condition, she fully expected to be put on restriction for years. Resting her hand on her chin, she waited in disgust until she saw her uncle and Zuri enter the room.

Chapter 31

During the Spice concert Zuri and Eddie renewed acquaintances, catching up on the gaps in their past. It was as if the years of separation did not exist. They talked easily, falling into the relaxed conversation and playful bantering that had been missing for them both. The hours slipped away like seconds and before they knew it the lights came on, indicating the Roxy was closing for the evening. For the first time in memory that he had taken his nieces out for an evening, he regretted not being out alone. He hated to break his evening with Zuri. As if reading his mind, she said, “We’d better go back in before they think you’ve left them. Do they live with you?” “No way, baby.… That spot I’ve reserved just for you…my African Queen.” “African Queen, huh? Eduardo…my dear…when did you quit passin’?” Zuri knew this question might anger him, but

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she had to appease her curiosity and ask—plus, she had never been one to bite her tongue. Why start now? she reasoned. “Never started…so I never stopped. A player with game doesn’t have to. Baby, you blinded yourself.” “What do you mean by that?” “I mean, you refused to trust your instincts and believe that a black man could be situated like me; therefore I either had to be passing or some other race. I recall your confusion the day you first stopped by.… Your instincts told you I was black…but your intellect told you it couldn’t be so.” “Touché, my beautiful black man.… Touché.” She laid her head against his shoulder and placed her arm around his waist. Eddie looked down at Zuri in mock surprise. “Come on, my lady, before I forget my responsibility!” Hugging her to him closely they went in search of Mignon and Angel. To his surprise, they were seated exactly where he’d left them. Hmm…something’s not right, Eddie thought, approaching the table. Angel and Mignon seemed unnaturally withdrawn. “We’re back.… Things straight?” “They’re fine, Unc. Noni is pissed at me.… Would you like to know why?” Angel was talking too fast and too animated for Eddie’s comfort. He’d find out what was up, but not now…not in front of Noni. “We’ll talk.… Get yourself together, they’re closing down the joint.” Standing to her full height, Mignon still had not spoken, nor had she met their eyes. Walking around the table, her body language indicated that she no longer wanted to be in as close proximity to Angel as she had when they’d first arrived. Zuri stepped in. “Hey, baby, why don’t you and Angel ride together and Mignon can ride with me? I’m convinced now more than ever—since I’ve seen her stand up—that she’s the next best thing…to me!”

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Eddie nodded at Zuri appreciatively; she had common sense and was able to zero in without being led. He didn’t know if he could hold his cool long enough to talk to Angel alone. He also noted that Mignon seemed relieved at the idea of riding in separate cars. “That’s fine.… I’m at the same spot in the Hills, Z, just follow me.” “Tell you what. Mignon knows the address, right? We’ll stop and get something to nibble on and then we’ll be on our way. Okay?” “All right,” he said hesitantly, looking back at Angel, who still had not stood up. Damn, he thought. She’s really wasted. “Angel…time to get up! Time to go!” “All right, Unc…” Still Angel didn’t move. Without another word, Eddie reached across the table, pulling her to her feet unceremoniously. “Let’s go!” “Come on, Mignon, let’s have the cars brought up,” Zuri said. Eddie’s heart dropped when the enormity of Angel’s condition dawned on him. This was much more than alcohol induced. Once they were in the car he headed toward his home. Flooded with resentment and anger, he realized someone had slipped her a mickey. Shortly thereafter they arrived at his house. Pressing the remote, he waited for the gates that marked the entry to his home to swing open before proceeding up the tree-lined drive. “Hey…why are we here? I need to go home.… I’ve got things to do.” “Yeah, well, you said you had something you wanted to tell me earlier, so I sent Mignon with Zuri so we can talk.” “Ah, damn, Noni is so-o-o mad at me…” Angel’s eyes welled up with tears. “I need to go home.… We can talk tomorrow.”

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“No, tonight is good.” “Nah, Unc.… It’s not that kinda party.” “All right, then. Let’s go inside for a minute and you can tell me what kind of party you’re talking about.” Sighing in resignation, Angel pulled her willowy frame from the Rolls and walked slowly into the house. Taking a seat on the tobacco-brown suede pit sofa, she gazed out at the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beautiful L.A. skyline. Eddie headed straight for the kitchen and made a strong pot of coffee. As it brewed, he poured a tall glass of milk for Angel to drink to help counter the effects of the mickey. Half an hour later, sipping on a cup of coffee, she had almost returned to normal. “You know, Unc.… If you let me go now, then you will be better off living in ignorance about me.” “Ignorance? Come on, baby, I’m an old-timer. Nothing new under the sun. “Trust me, Unc, I’ve changed my mind about this.… You really don’t want to know.” Angel looked at Eddie, locking eyes with him. What hurt the most was Angel’s secretiveness. It had been the one personality trait that was most like her mother’s and the one he had disliked the most in them both. Eddie felt his age for the first time in his life as he sat on the ottoman facing her. With a sinking feeling, he knew that he had to hear whatever unpleasantness she offered. The sirens went off in his head—his greatest fear was that he had failed Angel in the same way he had failed her mother, Sofia. “Tell me, babygirl.… Whatever it is, I want to know about it.” Taking a deep breath, Angel exhaled shakily. “I’m taking Ginger and moving to Europe to find her father so he can get to know her.”

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Staring at her thoughtfully, unmoved by her revelation, Eddie got up and walked to the bar, giving himself a moment to consider how to penetrate the barrier she had put up. “Care for JD, or something milder?” “JD is fine…Coke back…” Pouring drinks, Eddie walked across the brown Italian marble floor, listening to the haunting refrain of Roberta Flack singing “Reverend Lee”: He went to the water… Handing her a drink, he returned to his seat; leaning back, he crossed his legs, letting his ankle rest on his thigh, drumming his fingers absently. “Okay, baby…that’s cool. I didn’t know that her father was alive. I thought both parents had died.… But, Slick, that’s not what I want to know about.” “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Both of her parents are alive. It’s just that her father never knew she was conceived. He thought her mother didn’t want him, so he left.… Now she wants to find him, to tell him the truth.” Inhaling deeply, Eddie leaned his head back, closing his eyes and extending his arms fully as though stretching. Had either of his sisters or his mother been in the room they would have known Eddie had withdrawn into prayer; as always, he finished by uttering, “Jehovah Elohim…Jehovah Rohi.” It had been his way since he’d come out of that coma as a child. The observer never knew he had called on God, requesting His presence and—even greater—His participation. “Come on, Smooth. How can you know all that! It seems Julius should be the one trying to make this thing happen.… How’d you get so involved?” Eddie stared at Angel with an intensity that belied the emotional strain he felt. As she returned his gaze, Angel’s false bravado crumbled. Her eyes filled, releasing the tears that she had clung to with a heroic effort. “Why did you let him keep me?”

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“Let who keep you?” Eddie asked incredulously, wondering where the conversation was going. “Why is it that no one ever came for me…took me from him? Why didn’t you stop him when he pushed my Momma in front of the gun?” Eddie’s mind raced with the questions that were indictments, accusations…as the reality of the situation they had allowed and even fought to keep her in dawned on him. “I didn’t know,” he choked out as the tears that burned his throat uncharacteristically fell from his eyes. A horror-show of images filled his mind, playing like a black-and-white silent movie. Comments and situations took on new meaning. She had been right—he almost would have preferred ignorance to this knowledge. “How did you not know, Unc? I mean, you are the one person who should have known.… If it had been Ana or Mignon you would have sensed it—you would have killed to confirm your suspicions!” Angel’s pain-filled expression tore open the skin on old wounds. “Angel…baby, I was caught up.… You know I couldn’t deal with losing your mother…and seeing you was like looking at her…still is. So I thought you’d be better off as the daughter of a wealthy doctor. I didn’t know! I would have dealt with the sonofabitch if I had known! You ought to know that!” He looked at her pleadingly, wanting to convince her although he could never return to her what she had lost. But his pleas sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Did you know that since I was nine years old Momma hired a nanny who would take care of me and sleep in my room at night to stop him from coming to me?” “No, baby.… Your mama kept many secrets.… We thought she was just fine.” “I remember being embarrassed because I could never

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have friends over. I never wanted to explain the cot in the corner of my room. A couple of years later Momma promised me it would be over soon. The man who lived next door was going to save us and protect me. He was a nice man.… He taught me to enjoy art…that it was a gift.” Eddie sat up as he tried to recall where he’d heard that before. It sat right on the edge of his awareness as he struggled to place it. “I was scared and told Momma I wanted to go live with my real daddy, but she told me she never wanted me to see him because he betrayed us. She explained that she was having a baby and our neighbor would be like my real father. He would protect us and I would have a baby brother or sister.… But then Momma died and you let Julius take me. You see, Julius knew about Mom and our neighbor. He made me call him and tell him she was dead. We never returned to that house again. Julius moved us to Hancock Park…because it was gated. Then he fired the nanny and made me his wife.… I had to sleep with him every night—do you understand that, Unc? I never slept alone.” Angel spat out each word as though it were coated with bile. “Until I was almost eighteen and he had the accident. It was my ticket to freedom and then I got pregnant with Ginger…but I was so screwed up I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t Julius’s baby. I started to have an abortion, but then something told me the baby wasn’t by my stepfather. Thank God I didn’t go through with it. When Ginger was born, I knew she wasn’t Julius’s when I first laid eyes on her; she is the spitting image of her daddy. I want to find him and let him know he has a daughter. I owe them both that much. So if something ever happens to me, she will never have to be a wife to some man who inherits her.” “Why did you wait ’til now? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

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Pausing in obvious disbelief, Angel’s facial expression changed from reprehension to comprehension. “You really didn’t know, Unc? I mean, since you showed up a few years ago with Cam…I thought you had to know. Especially after you brought Mignon and me to the studio. Did you never notice how he stares at me? As a matter of fact, I fully expected him to try and replace Julius—but then as time passed I realized he had no interest in me other than as Sofia’s daughter.” Eddie stared at Angel; his eyes clouded, his facial expressions shifted and changed, as he comprehended the enormity of her accusation. But, baffled at the change of direction in her conversation, he assumed that so much had happened to her that she had become confused or that the mickey had been more potent than he’d assumed. “I’m sorry, babygirl…but you just mentioned Cam.… What would showing up with him have to do with this?” “That’s right…you never came to our home when Momma was alive, so you didn’t know Cam was our neighbor. He bought another home that was going to be for us…but I learned he never moved.” Eddie’s mind raced at this revelation and at the same time he realized that it had been Cam who had always made the reference to art as a gift to be enjoyed. Again, surprise was written all over Angel’s face. “Why, Unc, he was the neighbor—the one Momma was pregnant by!” She exploded in a hysterical fit of laughter. “Damn! You really didn’t have a clue—you should see your face! Well, I guess if he couldn’t be my father he settled for being your father! As you know, Uncle, with fame and fortune comes privilege.… I have used that privilege to learn more about Cameroon Fournier. He was our neighbor, but by the time you met him—or shall I say, he arranged to meet you—he had laid the groundwork to lure you in as his partner!”

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Doubling over in convulsive laughter, Angel cried aloud at the injustice. Knowing Eddie’s ignorance, she had no one left to blame.… He had only been a pawn. Reeling from the revelation, Eddie stood to his feet. Suddenly he felt claustrophobic and wanted to escape Angel so he could put the pieces together and try to make sense of this bizarre tragedy. Unstoppable, the words seemed to tumble from Angel as she continued to tell her story. The secrets she’d held for so long burst forth from her like the insides of overripened fruit dropped on concrete. “Can you believe that I wasn’t even seventeen when I decided to kill Julius if he ever came near me again? But then he was in the accident and when he returned home bedridden I gave him a taste of his own medicine. He’d start crying and wailing like a baby, asking me to come in his room and help him or read to him. Like I should be a dedicated daughter and nothing had ever happened. I did go into his room and right in front of his nurse I told him I would never enter the room again after that day to see him, or talk to him. If he died, the nurse would be the one to tell me so I could have him removed.” Again, Eddie’s expression became transfixed as he watched Angel throw up her hands in a fit of convulsive laughter. “He had the nerve to threaten me…this feeble, bedridden man. Can you imagine, Unc? He had the nerve to threaten me after all he’d done to me. I told him that if he tried to make my life any harder I would make sure everyone knew that he had turned his daughter into his wife—I would tell everything! About the abortions that he arranged each time he made me pregnant…about how he used me like a boy…and how I didn’t have normal periods or the ability to have relationships or even friendships! “Finally, I lived without fear! You can’t know what that’s

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like. After that I enrolled in UCLA’s art extension school and began to feel like I could have a normal life. You see, I fell in love with my art professor, but then I found out I was pregnant with Ginger. I didn’t tell him about Ginger, because for all the years of having sex, I was still ignorant about time lines and all the things I should have known. Anyway, once it was discovered that we were having an affair he lost his job. Ana would call and invite me to come over and visit, but I didn’t want to explain anything so I stayed away until I could come up with an answer you all would accept. It’s funny, though, how neither you or Ana ever questioned why Julius never spoke to you directly. You were both willing to accept whatever excuse I offered and never looked any deeper. You know, since I gave birth to Ginger, I can’t imagine not wanting to know everyone that is involved with her. I don’t have any siblings, and if I’m lucky enough to have another child, I will raise them to look out for each other down to their own offspring. You see, Unc, you have taught me a valuable lesson. You are a protector—I mean, I’ve heard you say it before— so I guess you just decided I wasn’t worth protecting. But I can tell you that since Ginger’s birth I have protected her. I won’t even allow her anywhere near Julius, I told her his room is off limits. It’s the monster’s room.” Angel’s pain was so intense and palpable that Eddie feared movement until she returned to the present. Glancing up, Angel noticed the white lines of strain around Eddie’s mouth; staring him in the eyes, she said, “See, Unc…you would have fared much better to take my small confession as the source of all revelations.… It would have been much easier for you to digest instead of this, don’t you agree?” Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he said, “No…I would prefer to have you speak truthfully to me.… I just hate

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that it took you so long. As for Cam, I had no idea that he ever even knew Sofia—neither did Momma or Ana. You and your mother are much alike.… you keep secrets that would have been easier to deal with if they had come to light sooner.” “Are you blaming me? I was just a child.… My mother had been killed and then I was given away like a bad memory! Tell me, Unc, did I keep a special secret or should I have shared it with my playmates? That is, since my mother’s family didn’t care enough to help?” “I only wish I had known because I would have castrated the bastard myself! Why are you still there—you’ve made more than enough to move even before now. And you know I would have given you the money.” “No! That’s just it, I will never be rid of him. I need to see him die—I need to hear his cries of pain—I need to see him suffer and wither away. This is my life line!” she shouted vehemently. Grieved to the core by her statement, Eddie said, “Baby, you can’t live on that kind of fuel.… It will attract the very thing you seek to destroy. How can Ginger be healthy, living with this much hatred in her house? He may be a monster to you, but to her he is a suffering old man and she’s watching her mother derive pleasure from his pain. You’re right—I have spent most of my life talking about something I was never able to do…protect those I love. The strange thing is that I never accepted it until just this moment. Now I realize I have been so fearful of letting my guard down and loving that I have protected only me. I have nothing and no one that needs me. So blame me—I’ll take it—but just know it wasn’t intentional. There is not a person alive who hasn’t been hurt and let down, many not as bad as you…and many worse off than you. Baby, to win is not to stay fighting the same battle and kicking the same sick dog that bit you. Walk away,

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forgive—not forget, forgive—so you can be free. Who knows what car will hit that dog? You may not pass down the street to verify it. But you won’t need to…because you’re free and a bite-mark heals. But the disease in the dog only worsens, he can’t just shake it.… But with treatment and prayer…you can. I’ve always lived hard, fast…subconsciously seeking death because I was afraid of the pain that comes with living. “But I promise you this. If you seek life, I will, too. Let me help you find this cat.… Let me help you get started. Okay?” Completely unprepared for Eddie’s emotional appeal, Angel wavered, stunned by his admission. Although she silently contemplated the possibility of happiness and fearlessness, she turned away, still not prepared to acquiesce. Accepting her desire for solitude, Eddie spoke to her with the assurance of someone who believes the right decision will be made. “Awright then, Smooth, get some sleep. We’ll go get Ginger in the morning. You can stay with me as long as you like or you can take the condo in Brentwood.… It’s up to you.… But it’s past time for you to make your life and find happiness.” As if on cue, the doorbell rang, indicating the arrival of Zuri and Mignon. Eddie walked to the door like a marionette; when the heavy door swung open, Zuri froze at the raw pain she saw etched into his face. Looking past him at Angel’s tearstreaked face, she knew it was far worse than she’d imagined. Mignon, mature beyond her years, sensed Angel’s pain and knew that her hostility would only make it worse. Angel kept her head down, never once looking up to acknowledge their arrival. Dropping her shoulder-bag on the marble floor, Mignon touched her uncle’s hand lightly, so engrossed in Angel’s pain that she did not recognize her uncle’s. Settling on the sofa next to Angel, Mignon brushed her hair back at

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the temple and hugged her tightly around the neck. “Love you, cuz.… Cheer up.… It’s gonna be all right. Sorry it’s just that it’s been a crazy night, ya know?” Needing the warmth and acceptance that she was accustomed to receiving from Mignon, Angel hugged her back tightly, her sobs coming from a depth that no one, not even Eddie with his newfound knowledge, could comprehend. As though rehearsed, Zuri reached out for Eddie in much the same way as Mignon had, trying to relieve him of the apparent horror that had been etched in his mind. Something Angel said had struck him deep, but Zuri was determined that tonight would be an end, not a beginning, to more pain and sadness. The four of them sat in communal silence after the tears of anger and pain had been shed, each lost in their own thoughts, trying to find their way. It crossed Eddie’s mind to ask Angel why she had shielded the information about Cam, the neighbor whom Sofia had loved, but he stopped short, not wanting to reopen a wound that desperately needed to heal. Now Eddie knew who had erected the monument in the cemetery that they had all ascribed to Julius’s doing. In his heart he knew Angel spoke the truth about Sofia’s being pushed—he recalled Sofia’s reaction to Julius at the reception and also the impression of imbalance that is experienced when movement is not natural or of your own doing. It would explain Ruth’s turning the gun on Sofia; she’d probably thought she was being attacked. Now Eddie had to wrestle with his desire to strike out at Julius; he had spent years trying to move beyond Sofia’s death, and now it was back— with his niece’s near destruction as an accompaniment. Tonight also reminded him of the void he felt about the disappearance of Delia. For all intents and purposes she had dropped off the face of the earth. After many years of speculation, her disappearance had inspired many versions of who-

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dunits. Even after the police had investigated her disappearance they were left with no evidence of foul play, and drew the conclusion that Delia McKenzie had walked away willingly from her life and lifestyle. Disappearing more than ten years ago, Delia had fallen out of the fleeting memories of her once-devoted fans. As with Elvis, there were often Delia sightings in coastal towns outside Los Angeles. Hours later, Eddie’s mind was still reeling.… The evening had been so bittersweet. After many years and a multitude of women, he had found Zuri again, a reunion he’d thought would never occur. But he never had expected to find Angel’s life in such a shambles, especially when he learned how the family had allowed her to become a victim. Walking past the sofa where she sat, Eddie stood at the windows overlooking the city. He needed fresh air; but more than anything else, he wanted to talk to Cam, who had once been like a father to him. Maybe he could shine a light and give him a new perspective. Several years back he had spoken to Dr. Lyon, who’d informed him that Cam was still in a catatonic state. He’d suggested that Eddie go on with his life and said that if Cam regained awareness he would call Eddie and have him come out. Until then, there was no reason to schedule a visit unless he wanted to check the accommodations. Eddie had had no desire to take a tour of a sanitarium; he would wait for the call and continue to check in periodically. After tonight he decided on a different approach. In the morning he would call Dr. Lyon and make an appointment to visit Well Spring Institute.… It was ten years overdue. He would also take Angel along for the ride. Maybe seeing her again after all this time would jar Cam and shake him from his vegetative state. After all, he had a lot of explaining to do. By the time Eddie and Zuri returned to the living room,

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Angel and Mignon had fallen asleep; exhausted emotionally, they sought the peace that sleep offered. Shaking them gently, he said, “Noni? Angel? Z and I are gonna take a ride.… Why don’t you go to bed?” Zuri studied Eddie curiously. “I can stay here if you’d prefer.” “Naw, baby, we won’t be long. I just have to get out.… I want you to ride with me.” “Okay.” Riding through the Hollywood Hills and down Topanga Canyon, Eddie and Zuri ended up in the Valley. Parking on a bluff, Eddie divulged Angel’s story to Zuri, even telling her about Delia and how he’d come to live in L.A. He was prepared to let his guard down enough to open old wounds. Listening intently, Zuri asked a few questions for clarification, offering no input. Once Eddie had finished, she reached across the seat, stroking his hand gently. “All of this was supposed to happen.… You couldn’t stop or control it. This is not a sketch, baby.… This is a mosaic and all the pieces painful—and more are needed to complete the picture. Just know that you can’t take responsibility. What happened to Angel is a tragedy…there’s no other way to describe it. But you didn’t cause it, you’d have no way to know about it or for that reason suspect anything. From what you described he seemed perfect and Sofia didn’t let on she was unhappy—so no one could save her. Except, I guess, this unknown neighbor who I’m sure by now has moved on with his life.” “That’s just it.… the neighbor was Cam!” Shocked, Zuri became silent as she contemplated her response. “It’s still a tragedy…but a greater tragedy would be for you to sacrifice our chance at happiness and change the colors given to us now to right an unrightable wrong. This is God’s job, not yours. Vengeance will only make you into a victim one way or the other. It sounds to me like Sofia sought

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vengeance on Angel’s father, which is how she ended up with Julius. Baby, it’s a vicious cycle. But please, listen to me.… I won’t beg anybody for anything, it’s not my style. But I am begging you to let go of this and give it to God.… He put us together tonight for a reason—let’s find out what it is and quit living in regrets.” Eddie looked at Zuri through new eyes. “Baby, you can’t leave me again.… This time it has to be for keeps.” Pulling her to him and kissing her deeply, he realized how much he had missed her. “I needed to hear that, baby.… I was sitting in the house thinking of ways to kill him. If you hadn’t been here tonight, I know I would have made it happen. Come on, let’s get back.… I have a niece that I’ve made some promises to. Tonight with you was the first step. Plus I know Ana is gonna be pissed that Noni was exposed to all of this.” “I doubt if she’ll say anything…Noni is much more mature than even you give her credit for. Anyway, what happened tonight is called ‘life.’ She’ll be exposed to it sooner or later— you may be surprised at how she handles this. I know I was shocked at her reaction when we came in the house.” Driving back home, they watched the sun rise on a new day, bringing with it new possibilities.

ODELE

Chapter 32

Geoffrey Lyon lay next to his wife, listening to her soft snores and staring out of their bedroom window. It was hard to believe they had been married nine years. Last night they had celebrated their anniversary with a candlelight dinner and made love in front of the fireplace. Just like in the movies, he thought. Staring at her while she slept, he realized that he had never loved anyone the way he loved Odele. Despite her past, she had proven to be a loving, devoted wife and an excellent counselor. Even now, as he lay next to her, he made up his mind to schedule her to spend some time with the patient they called “Franz.” It was not his real name, but a nickname the nurses had given him because he spoke only German. Over the years Geoffrey had tried a number of therapies on Franz but had been unable to penetrate the fortress around his mind. Franz had never been immersed in the main popu-

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lation, but now the more Geoffrey thought about it the more it seemed the only thing left to try. Tomorrow would be the day to change tactics with him; somehow Geoffrey convinced himself that the patient might respond better to a female. The day that he’d fallen into a catatonic state was after he’d lashed out at a nurse, causing four male orderlies to restrain him. He still could vividly recall the alarm, followed by fear—Franz’s knees buckling as he soiled himself, slobbering and crying like a toddler. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and he’d sat back on his heels and rocked back and forth, spittle running freely down his chin and onto his neck. Staring straight ahead with bulging eyes, he declared, “Es ist gemacht.” It is done. Yes…a woman’s touch is just what he needs, Geoffrey thought. Settling on a decision, he turned over, placing his arm and leg across Odele, and fell contentedly asleep. The next morning over breakfast, Geoffrey told Odele of his decision. Looking up from the paper, she studied her husband for a moment. “You really think it’ll work? That seeing a woman will help him?” “I’m not certain, dear.… I’m at the end of my rope and he definitely doesn’t respond to a male figure. In fact, I think it has caused him to worsen.” “You say he speaks only German?” “Uh, er, yes.… But that shouldn’t matter. He understands and speaks English equally as well—though he doesn’t use it. Why, what are you thinking?” “Well, Elga speaks fluent German and she’s a woman. I think I should try bringing her into the session. She may have a soothing effect since he seems persuaded to communicate only in German.” “Good idea, babe. I knew I made the right decision getting you involved.”

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“I love you.… Did I tell you that today?” “No…but I guarantee I love you more.” Walking around the table to her side, Geoffrey leaned down and kissed her tenderly before leaving for the main building. “See you in an hour, right?” “Right…or sooner.… I’m just going to straighten up a bit.” By noon, Elga and Odele were seated side by side in the therapy room awaiting the arrival of Franz. While waiting, Odele gave Elga the same sketchy information she’d received from reading Franz’s chart. Making a clucking sound, Elga commiserated. “I can understand why he mutilated himself. If you had lived through the abomination of Hitler in Nazi Germany, a mental breakdown at any stage would not be too far-fetched.” Not knowing exactly what to expect, the two women exchanged stunned glances when the orderly brought a black man into the room. Speaking up, Odele stated, “John, I think there’s been a mistake.… We’re waiting on Franz—a survivor of Nazi Germany.” John continued to turn the wheelchair until it was positioned in front of them before responding. “Ma’am, this is Franz.” Staring straight ahead, Cam’s gaze firmly fastened on some point above their heads. The beauty of his sea-green eyes and the contrast with his complexion startled Odele. Turning to Elga expectantly, Odele noticed that the color seemed to have drained from her. Before Odele could ask what was wrong, Elga began screaming in German. “Es ist mein bruder Cameroon!” It is my brother— Cameroon! Pushing past Odele and John, Elga ran to the wheelchair

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and laid her head in Cam’s lap. “Es ist mich Elga…your Schwester.” It’s me, Elga…your sister. “Kommen Sie bitte Back.” Please come back. “Bitte zurückgehen auf mich.” Please return to me. “Alle diese Jahre habe ich gedacht, daß Sie Dead.” All these years I thought you were dead. “Heute wir waren, Sie bringen hinter.” Today we bring you back. Realizing he still wasn’t responding, Elga raised herself, holding Cam’s face with both hands, forcing him to look at her to hear her pleas. “Ich habe gedacht, daß Sie tot waren. I hat versteckt von den Soldaten…but, den ich gesehen habe.” I hid from the soldiers…but I saw. “I weiß was sie machten zu Ihnen und Helga.” I know what they did to you and Helga. “Die sie zu Mutter machten.” What they did to mother. Gathering her wits, Odele beckoned the orderly. “John…please go get Dr. Lyon. Tell him it’s an emergency.” Fixated on the spectacle that was taking place before her, Odele was mesmerized by the effect of Elga’s words on the patient she knew only as Franz. It wasn’t until now that Odele comprehended the depth of Elga’s struggle or the loss that she had only alluded to. Elga knelt with her lips next to Franz’s ear; through tears she communicated in a language they both understood—loss, love, shame and endurance. “Es haben keinen Schande, Bruder.” There is no shame, brother. “They beschämt für die Leben sie zerstört gibt soll sein.” They should be ashamed for the lives they destroyed. “Ist keine Schande.” There is no shame. “Ist keine Schande.… Den ich bin verliebt mich in Leben wieder…” Today I fell in love with life again…. “So soll Sie.” So should you. Elga continued speaking to Franz in whispered tones. As the seconds turned to minutes Odele could swear she’d seen a sign like a flicker of light behind Cam’s eyes milliseconds before he lifted his hand to stroke her hair…gently and lovingly. The eyes that had stared blankly for years were now

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transfixed on the face of his sister. Tears rolled down his face, cleansing and freeing his spirit. Elga told Cam that he had a daughter named Maggie, that she had raised her after her mother Magda died during childbirth. Cam sat transfixed, shaken to learn that he was not only a father, but also a grandfather. His grandson had been named after him but had shortened his name to Ronnie. Like Cam, he was an artist, a sculptor who’d won acclaim abroad. Emotionally spent, Elga stopped short.… Flooded with emotion, she was unable to go on. She had been reunited with her brother after giving up all hope of finding any member of her family alive again. Now, after a lifetime of maintaining the strong bonds of family by sacrificing her life to ensure the Schaeffer-Fournier line continued, she could not go any further. As a weight that is suddenly lifted knocks the bearer off balance, so it was when God removed the weight from Elga—she had to pull herself away from her brother and thank her God for His mercy. She knelt in praise, thanking God.… No longer could she speak; words eluded her. For a moment Cam thought he was having a hallucination. Focusing on the woman kneeling beside him, he thought she was his mother…but realized it couldn’t be so. His mother had perished. This woman knew his pain and humiliation, she had seen it all and understood it was not of his will. Who he had become was not of his will. “Elga? Meine Schwester.… meine beliebte Schwester Elga?” My sister.… my beloved sister…Elga? “…Recht…Sie immer haben versteckt.… Unsichtbar?” Right…you always hid…invisible…right? “Recht…Sie immer haben versteckt.… invisible…right? Unsichtbar…Recht?” Stroking her face, he said, “Sie sind schön.” You are beautiful. Tears rolled off his chin.

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“Wie machte Sie finden mich. Wer hat Sie erzählt, dalß ich hier war?” How did you find me…who told you I was here? “I was here all along.… I’ve worked here all along but had it not been for my friend, Odele, I would have never known you were here. She knew I spoke German so she thought I should be with her today to try and help her communicate with you.” “Work here? Where am I?” “Well Spring Institute—it’s a…” “I know what it is.… May I speak to Odele?” he asked, his eyes welling up with shame and remorse. “Yes, dear brother.… She is there…by the door.” Cam’s eyes searched the room, locking onto the slender woman with the scar that marred an otherwise attractive face. She stood wiping the tears from her eyes, being comforted by a man he vaguely recalled meeting. “You are Odele? Odele Daniels?” Cam’s voice was raspy from disuse. Feeling a chill travel over her body, as though she’d been submersed in ice, Odele could only nod her head in affirmation. As though the temperature in the room had dropped, Elga hugged herself, filled with a keen sense of foreboding, trying to dispel the shiver that ran up her spine. “I am sorry for what I’ve done to you.… It was a mistake.… I had so much hate…so much pain and bitterness.… I hope that one day you can forgive me.” “Who are you?” Odele could hear the shrillness in her voice but was unable to control the emotions that were surfacing like waves swelling before they break. “Who are you, that I need to forgive you?” Shrugging off Geoffrey’s embrace, she walked on wooden legs to confront this man who was confined in a wheelchair. “I am Cameroon Fournier…the man who loved your sister Sofia even after death.”

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“Fournier?” The realization of this man’s identity dawned on her, causing her body to convulse in shivers. “Fournier and Son…not my sister…my brother, Eddie. Why? Why would he want to hurt me? I always loved him!” “Yes…you did…didn’t you? It was Sofia you didn’t love…correct? Eddie would never hurt you.” The enormity of his declaration washed over Odele like a tidal wave of emotions. “You hated the wrong person.… I always loved my sister.… My crime was that I wasn’t capable of showing love. Eddie never required that emotion from me—so maybe that’s why you thought I gave it to him.” Now it was Odele’s turn to cry, as her fingers were once again selfconsciously drawn to the scar on her face. Turning her back to Cam, she met Geoffrey’s eyes.… Returning to his side, she let him lean down and trace the scar with his lips as he had done many times before. This simple action said more to Odele than words ever could. Leaning her head against the warmth of his shoulder, she looked from Elga, who seemed to have stopped breathing, back to her brother, Cameroon Fournier…the German. Now it all fit. “You are forgiven.… If it is absolution you seek…then I give it to you freely. I have no regrets and neither should you—if not for you…I would not have my beloved husband who I could not live without, or the love of your sister—my best friend. You helped me heal.… I pray the same for you.” Entwining her fingers with Geoffrey’s, Odele caught his eyes and he complied by opening the door and allowing her to exit. Geoffrey followed, his heart in her hands.

CAM

Chapter 33

Cam let his gaze return to his sister after Odele’s departure, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. To his relief he saw only love and compassion. In amazement, he stated aloud, “I have a daughter, and a grandson? When can I see them?” “First things first… Let’s get you settled into a suite. You also need a good meal…maybe some homemade chicken soup… Nothing too heavy right away.” Beaming from ear to ear, Elga wiped away her tears, making a fuss over Cam like a mother hen. “I’ll have you transferred to my ward, in Odele’s old room. It is a good place…a place to heal.” “I want to be healed, Elga.” “He knows, dear—God knows. That’s why we’re all here…first Odele, and now you. Thank Him for mercy and grace—just thank Him, brother.” “I do.”

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For the first time Cam noticed the beautifully manicured lawns and richly appointed accommodations. Yes, it is a place of healing, he thought. Sighing deeply, he acknowledged Odele was first in a line of wrongs he’d have to make right. Elga was right, God had not deserted him, He had merely been quiet. Today God had chosen to show His face. Thankful for another chance, Cam was determined to keep his own face turned toward the Master. Although he knew he would die soon; as the disease had rapidly begun to spread through his body, Cam chose to ask for forgiveness and mercy. He prayed to be reborn in spirit, even though his death was on the horizon. After Elga had him settled into his new accommodations, Dr. Lyon came by, knocking on the door before entering the room that he was so intimately familiar with. “I’m glad that you have finally joined us, Mr. Fournier— or do you prefer Cameroon?” “Thank you, doctor.… I prefer to be called Cam. I know this whole affair has been quite unsettling for you and your wife—but I was a very disturbed man.” “Unsettling? Good choice of words, to say the least. Yes, it has been…unsettling…but as my wife alluded, her arrival here was a blessing for us both. One that I have never regretted in our years of marriage nor that first year of renewal and healing. It was a torturous path for us both to finally find each other. The benefit is that when we did, we acted and claimed our happiness. Now you have to make the same decision: to heal and find renewal, to leave the past where it lies and repair your brokenness. This must happen before you can claim your happiness. Do you think you’re ready to take that step of faith?” “At this point, doctor, faith is the only thing I possess.… Yes, I’m quite ready.” “Fine. I have your first session scheduled tomorrow

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morning at ten o’clock. I would suggest you get your rest, as you will have full days from now on. By the way, I assigned Elga as your personal nurse…that is, since you have so much catching up to do.” Winking at Cam, Dr. Lyon exited the room, closing the door gently but firmly until the latch caught behind him. Stopping outside at the nurses’ station, he conferred with Elga about the schedule for the following day before retiring for the evening. Walking across the grounds to the Victorian gingerbread cottage that he and Odele occupied, Geoffrey reflected on the miracles and healing that he had witnessed earlier in the day. Then he thought of the telephone call he had to make in the morning to the man he had spoken to on a regular basis for years, not knowing it was his wife’s brother. Whistling softly, he sat on the veranda in the porch swing, enjoying the cool breeze from the ocean. Minutes later Odele joined him with a wool blanket to cover them and two steaming cups of chocolate. Sitting in communal silence, they were both engrossed in their individual reflections of the events that had occurred that day. Neither dared to speculate on the days to come; instead, they basked in the warmth of what they knew…their love.

EDDIE

Chapter 34

Eddie woke up early, intent on fulfilling the promise he’d made to Angel the night before. Brewing a pot of coffee to shake off the lack of sleep, he was pleasantly surprised when he glanced up and saw Angel enter the kitchen dressed and ready to go. “Awright, Smooth.… You ready to do this?” “More then ready. Unc…thanks.” “None necessary…” Angel and Eddie sat drinking their coffee in companionable silence. So much had been said last night that daylight didn’t require verbal confirmation. The fact that they were both dressed and ready spoke volumes. “Gimme a minute, Smooth.… I gotta make a call to get some directions. I got one stop that we have to make before we pick up Ginger.You think she’ll be okay until we get there?” “I’m cool with the stop—I just need to pick my baby up

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first. Then we can go anywhere, as long as we’re together. I told her I’d be back last night—” “Right on…right on.… We’ll go get her first—then we’ll all take this ride together.” “What about Noni? Is she gonna freak out when she wakes up and we’re not here?” “Naw, baby, she’ll be okay. Z is here.… She’s gonna take Noni to the agency and have some photos done. Apparently they made a lot of plans last night before they arrived home.” “Home, huh? And you call me smooth.… No way, Unc. You got us all beat.” “Yeah, baby. Think I may be slowing down after all. Z is good people.… I messed up before—she’s not the kinda sister I can repeat that on.… Understand, Kemo Sabe?” “Okay, Lone Ranger.” Angel found herself genuinely smiling and feeling lighthearted, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Things are gonna be all right, Unc.… I feel it!” “Yeah, baby, things are gonna be just mellow.” As Eddie reached for the phone, it rang, startling them both. “Must be Ana checking on Noni.” He picked up the receiver and said, “She’s not here,” grinning broadly, anticipating Ana’s terse response. Angel glanced up when the tone of his voice changed. “Yes.… This is Eddie Fournier.… He did? When? Yes— I’m available today at ten. It’s funny you should call this morning, doctor. I was just getting ready to call you.… Hold on a second.… What’s the address? How do I get there from the Hollywood Hills?” Angel watched as Eddie visibly paled. Her stomach dropped with fear of what he might say after he hung up. Replacing the receiver on the phone, he looked at her without speaking for a few seconds. “That was the Well Spring Insti-

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tute.… It seems Cam has finally come around and can accept visitors.… By the time we pick up Ginger we should be able to make it just in time.” Unable to speak, Angel nodded and grabbed her handbag. Eddie’s mind raced as he drove the all-too-familiar course to Well Spring; he could have made it blindfolded. Now the picture was coming into full view as he realized why Cam had written “Well Spring” in blood. He vividly recalled following Delia’s husband, Bobby, to the base of the hill. He’d been certain that Bobby would lead him to her—and he had. Eddie just hadn’t pursued the lead. Bobby was found in the guest house, where he’d hung himself in the closet. From all reports he had been in the midst of a kinky act that had gone awry. Consequently, there hadn’t been much press as his agent and the studio struggled to hide the details and play up the tragic loss of Sid Weinstein and Aaron Ziegler. The media had a feeding frenzy with the high-profile deaths and speculation on the disappearance of Delia. Some newspapers had intimated that she might have been the one to discover her husband and had made the anonymous call to the police. Making a right turn up the steep incline, Eddie actually laid eyes for the first time on the Well Spring Institute. Momentarily relieved, he knew for certain that if he had driven up this hill ten years ago, he would have thought this was a private residence—there was no visible signage to indicate otherwise. Whoever came to this place knew about it beforehand…of that he was certain. Unconsciously, he breathed a sigh of relief, surprised by the gentle touch of Angel’s hand squeezing his in reassurance. Looking back to the rear seat, he smiled at Ginger. “Come on, Cake—let’s rock ’n’ roll.” Smiling back shyly, Ginger waited patiently for Eddie to come around and open her door; he extended his hand,

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helping her from the car. Angel, Eddie and Ginger walked up the steps and through the ornamental front door. Sarah, resigned to being merely indispensable to Dr. and Mrs. Lyon, still held her position over admissions to the facility. She was somewhat surprised at the three people who entered—Dr. Lyon had indicated he was expecting a gentleman only. Apparently Mr. Fournier had brought along guests. Oh, my, she thought; I need to apprise the doctor of a minor change. Picking up the extension, she called around to Ken and made certain that he had the large golf cart ready to transport the group to the visitor’s center. Stepping around the desk, she walked over to the group, pleasantly extending her hand. “You must be Mr. Fournier?” “Yes, I’m Eddie Fournier.… Dr. Lyon is expecting me.” “Why of course, Mr. Fournier—the doctor and Mrs. Lyon are expecting you. If you’ll follow me I will take you to Ken. He will shuttle you over to the visitors’ center to meet them.” Eddie and Angel exchanged curious glances; this was not supposed to be a social call. Just relax, he thought; it’s probably just a formality. Riding to the visitors’ center both Angel and Eddie commented on the tranquility of the view and on the quiet beauty and lush landscaping that seemed more like a resort than a sanitarium. Like the administration center, the visitors’ center was located in a turn-of-the- century Victorian-style home. Driving the cart up the cobblestone drive, they came to a stop and unloaded under the portico. Taking Ginger by the hand, Eddie turned to ascend the steps but stopped short, freezing dead in his tracks. For the second time in as many days, tears filled the eyes of a man who had by sheer force of will never allowed himself the expression of tears. Releasing her husband’s hand, Odele ran to Eddie, hugging

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him to her in a warm embrace. She stood back, staring into his eyes. “It’s okay.… I’m fine.… I met The Shadow and the only thing scary about him is his laugh. That’s why he lurks in the hearts of men—it’s the only way he can scare them.” Holding his face between her hands, she forced him to recall their childhood and the thing he’d feared most. “Remember…you met him when you were six.… It took me longer— I was scared and ran for a long time.” Still holding his eyes with hers, she continued, “I’m better.… I wanted you to know that before you went to see Cam.” Staring at his sister, for moments Eddie could not move the lump in his throat enough to speak. “Your face…what happened?” Touching the scar absently, she said, “Oh, this.… It’s my beauty mark…right, Geoffrey?” Walking up to his wife and Eddie, Geoffrey smiled. “Right.” “Eddie, I want you to meet my husband, Geoff Lyon.” “You mean—Dr. Lyon—but we have spoken to each other monthly for the last ten years! Why didn’t you tell me my sister was here?” he demanded, unable to mask his growing anger. Odele placed a restraining hand on Eddie’s arm, alarmed by his reaction, she began to quickly explain. “He didn’t know…honestly. Yesterday we all found out for the first time. My husband has your name recorded as Eduardo Fournier, the son of our patient, Cameroon Fournier. Come inside— there is much to explain.… And bring your guests.” For the first time Odele really looked at Angel, and her reaction mirrored Eddie’s moments before. The blood drained from Odele’s face as she reached out her hand toward the younger woman. “Sofia.… You must be Sofia’s Angel!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Forgive me.… I didn’t know it was you—I am your aunt Odele.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she

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looked down at the little girl, recognition dawning. “Oh, God—you were the art student at UCLA who was caught with Professor Schaeffer. You were pregnant? You never said you were pregnant—you just left.” Eddie and Angel exchanged stunned glances at Odele’s insight. “Yes, I was an art student at UCLA, and I did become pregnant with Ginger when I was eighteen.… But how did you know?” Looking at Geoffrey in alarm, Odele walked into the building beckoning them to follow. Once they were seated in a private parlor, she attempted to piece the puzzle together in her mind. Today would be full of unexpected surprises. “Eddie, Angel…I don’t know where to begin so I won’t try because it would only confuse you and me. So up until a few minutes ago, I was going to invite you to meet my best friend, her brother, and her brother’s daughter and grandson. Instead, I am going to introduce you to Ginger’s grandaunt, greatgrandfather, grandmother and father.” Allowing a few moments for her words to settle and absorb, Odele nodded to Geoffrey. Without another word, he opened the door and led the way into the library. Spying Cam seated in a wheelchair, Eddie was stunned at how the once dapper man had withered—he seemed to have aged far more than ten years. Now frail, he appeared to have been deserted of all life. Standing next to the wheelchair was his nurse, and seated across from him was a handsome woman with her arm linked casually with the arm of a man who was unmistakably her son. For moments all eyes rested on Maggie and Ronnie as the striking resemblance between them and Ginger became apparent. Staring at Ronnie, Maggie said, “Is that my grandchild? Why didn’t you tell me?” At a loss for words, Ronnie stared blankly at Angel as he tried to count backward—to no use. He was so astonished that his mind couldn’t process a simple

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formula like subtraction. No matter—this child was undeniably his, from her red hair and gingerbread complexion to her green eyes and the dimple in her chin. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked solemnly. “I was afraid,” Angel said. “So was I.… But I was also in love and you just disappeared.” Stepping between them, Odele took them both by the hand and led them to a private room. “You can talk here…make peace…forget your past mistakes.… Discuss them, then forget them. You have too much of a future to hold on to past bitterness. Look at the people left in that room—that is the end result of holding on to the bitterness and pain of youth. You have all of that experience to use to grow beyond any mistakes or misunderstandings. Show the old people how to do it.” Smiling disarmingly, Odele closed the door and left them to resolve their issues and move on to a new future.

Chapter 35

R e-entering the parlor, Odele noticed that Eddie had not moved; if not for the tic of the muscle in his jaw, the casual observer would have assumed he had no place among this group. Not understanding the tension, but knowing it wasn’t good for her granddaughter Maggie turned to Elga. “Mutter— Als werden ihre Großmutter, ich Ginger draußen nehmen…viel Spannung in der Luft.” Mother—As her grandmother, I am going to take Ginger outside…too much tension in the air. “Gut werde, ich aus etwas Tee und sweetbreads schicken.” Good, I will send out some tea and sweetbreads. Taking Ginger by the hand, Maggie smiled. “Hello, I am Maggie, your grandmother.… Come with me while your parents talk. We have to get to know each other.… Would you like that?” Ginger looked up to a reflection of her own face, seeing

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answers to questions she’d held inside for as long as she could remember. “Yes, my name is Ginger Daniels.” She glanced back toward Eddie, who nodded his approval. She took her grandmother’s hand, allowing the woman to lead her, smiling as the woman exclaimed, “You are such a beauty, Ginger! Your name fits you perfectly!” Beaming with pride, Ginger walked next to Maggie, closing the door to the parlor as they headed for the veranda to enjoy the air outdoors. An expectant silence filled the room as all eyes turned toward Cam, who, in his eagerness to make amends, tried to rise from the wheelchair. Unable to stand on his own in his frail condition, he settled for leaning his weight against the table with the assistance of Elga, who’d moved to his side as his ever-present protector. “Eddie, my son.… I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you.” Cam’s voice sliced through the air like a sharp knife. “I know you can’t forgive me…so I ask you to forgive yourself for not seeing through me.” “Hey, cat—your son? Where in the hell did that come from?” Eddie spat out his retort like a snake spitting venom. For a moment his vision seemed clouded; instead of seeing Cam, he saw Logan, his father, who had betrayed him. Like double vision, the figures momentarily adjoined before they merged, becoming one. “Forgive you! You’re right—not an option. Forgive myself? Already done that, cat!” Stunned at the intense anger directed against her brother, Elga stepped forward to give this young man, whom her brother had so lovingly referred to as his son, his comeuppance. Before she could open her mouth, Odele caught her attention, imploring her to remain silent. Biting her tongue was not Elga’s style when it came to any member of her family, especially Cam. Cam’s pained expression mirrored his inner pain as he at-

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tempted to make Eddie understand. “There are things you don’t know…that I couldn’t explain to you at the time. But I never meant any harm to come to you.… I only meant to help you. I wanted revenge. It was what I lived for…stupidly.… I’ve learned I had no right.” “Damn right you had no right! You never meant to harm me—man, don’t try to feed me that shit! You meant to harm my sister. Just because she turned out okay doesn’t mean you can take no damn credit for it! Nigga, I trusted you—with all my shit, all my secrets. I didn’t give a damn how you was swingin’—you were my nigga!” Chest heaving, Eddie trembled with anger. “I knew Sofia had another man.… I just never found out it was you. Why in the hell didn’t you just say so in the first damn place? Sofia told me she was pregnant and it wasn’t by her husband—she told me before she died. So, what, you thought you’d add to our pain—my pain—by hurting another one of my sisters? What loss?” “I’m sorry.… I was confused.” Collapsing into the wheelchair, Cam seemed to age as he spoke in a defeated whisper. “I thought somehow Odele had been responsible for the outcome of Sofia’s life…and I wanted her to pay.… I wanted to make her pay for being heartless and not offering my Sofia a modicum of affection—or even respect by acknowledging her passing. I wanted Julius to pay…in spades…for taking and molesting Angel all those years. He had tortured Sofia mentally and physically until we found each other. We loved each other, Eddie…” Cam’s tortured expression tugged at Eddie’s resolve to hate him as he continued pleading his case. “You wouldn’t understand it. I loved her more than I love life. I couldn’t lose any more.… Too much loss.… Even you, my son, I sacrificed because I loved her more than anything—without her, revenge was my only reason to continue living.” Slumping in his seat

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miserably, Cam was prepared for any outcome. “Is this it, Doctor…the therapy? Damit es dann ist…so ist es.” So be it, then…so be it. “You won, man. You got your revenge.… Tell me, did you find happiness?” “Once, yes…in the eyes and arms of a woman named Sofia.… Then I lost it all. I have lived in hell, my son, been sucked under and submerged in filth and stench.” Cam struggled to hold his body erect and confronted Eddie, seizing his gaze with a renewed strength and conviction in his voice, he reached his hand toward Elga. Holding her hand tightly, he continued. “All of these years since I was a boy, I thought God hated me—why else would he allow a Hitler to live and carry out such insanities against a race of people? Then, for a while, I thought he had given me a reprieve and I made my way to America—just to encounter a different brand of racism and prejudice.… But I got it in spades, ole chap, as you might say. I had accepted the perversions of others as my own, not because I chose but because they had been chosen for me! So I accepted what I believed to be true—it is what I became: a gay black man living in America. Then God sent me my Sofia, who showed me it was all a lie. I loved her as a man loves a woman, and would have been a man for her for the rest of my life. Then she was taken from me.… You see, chap? Blessing…then curse.… Blessing…then curse. I didn’t understand that it was never my battle until I was defeated. Then God bent down and lifted me up.… I still have some residue on me.… But through His mercy and His grace…happiness I have found again.” Reaching out, he kissed Elga’s hand. Meeting Eddie’s startled expression, he said, “Eddie, this is my sister, Elga. When she was twelve she hid and watched while her twin and I were tortured and gang-raped by Nazi soldiers.… I was

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only seventeen, but I thought I was a man. I had a pregnant girlfriend and believed I was in love. Hours before this happened I’d told her I would return for her once Hitler had been defeated. I never saw her or any member of my family alive again and thought them all to be dead…until yesterday. Now I find that my sister ran and hid among the rushes on the Mosel River, until it was safe. When Magda had my baby, she died from lack of care during childbirth. You see, her parents were so fearful of the Nazis that they turned their back on her when they found out she carried the child of a ‘Rhineland bastard.’ “Elga took the baby and raised her as her own. Elga could have traveled into France, to safety, but she stayed. She took my brown-skinned baby and all the hardships that came— many of which were life-threatening—all to raise my daughter, Maggie. Although we are flesh and blood, Elga takes after the Jewish side of the family. She is the picture of my mother. I am like my African father. I can never forget that part of my life.… I can only try to make you understand that I was a much different person. But degradation and loss have a way of breaking you and causing a horrible transformation. What you experienced, Eddie, was the result of a tragedy— you met the monster it created.” Speechless, Eddie felt as though the wind had been let out of his sails. He was stung by Cam’s confession and convicted by his assessment of Eddie’s inability to love another woman unashamedly. Eddie’s fury was dampened and he felt as though the room were closing in on him, becoming suffocatingly hot. Eager to flee as he struggled with his emotions, Eddie saw himself and what his future would be if he failed to unload the weight he’d been carrying far too long, with startling clarity. Sighing deeply, he lifted his eyes heavenward for a moment. Returning to the present, he scanned the room for

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Odele. “Babygirl, I have spent my life fighting for freedom.… But now I have someone waiting for me, and I want the contentment of conventionality with her. “I’m happy that you lost Delia and found Odele again.… She was always the most beautiful.” From now on, he just wanted to be Zuri’s man—her husband, if she’d have him. Feeling an urgency to leave this place and get on with his life, he glanced around. “Where’s Angel? I made her and Ginger a promise I have to keep.… Then I have my own commitments I must attend to.” “I’ll go get Angel,” Odele offered, blinking back tears. Eddie turned toward Geoffrey. “Doc…as far as the cost of Cam’s continued confinement…” “Yes, Eddie, I understand. I’ll check to make other arrangements.” “No—leave it as it is. Billed to his son…Eduardo Fournier. You’ll get your checks on time!” Glancing over at Cam, Eddie caught his look of surprise; smiling, he winked. “Once a Fournier, always a Fournier…eh, ole man? I’m sorry for you…but I’m glad you’ve found your family, and yourself.… Who am I to judge? I wish you the best. Maybe things will change in the future. I don’t know.” Blinking back the tears, Cam was too full to offer a response other than a nod of acknowledgment. Neither man said goodbye, but it was apparent that Eddie had cleared his conscience and settled accounts; the balance of his life he had chosen to live to the fullest, rather than end up like Cam— too little, too late. Several minutes later Odele returned. “Eddie, Angel said for you to leave without them.… It seems she and Ronnie need, er, more time to—uh, talk.” Blushing, Odele could barely finish. “Solid.… Tell her to call when she’s ready to move in.”

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“All right—but for now, I’m moving them up to the visitors’ cottage for overnight guests. Ginger can stay with us…okay, Geoff?” “Of course…that is, if Maggie doesn’t insist on keeping her.” “Oops—that’s right. I forgot.” “Either way, Eddie, she’s in good hands,” Geoffrey stated, extending his hand to Eddie in a gesture of reconciliation. Taking his hand, Eddie said, “Man…sorry about that.… I don’t usually lose my temper so quickly.” “Oh, it wasn’t quick. Took ten years, by my estimation.” Peering at him, Eddie smiled, appreciating this man’s dry sense of humor. “My sister made a good choice, Geoff.” “Thanks, Eddie. It means a lot.… I love her very much,” Geoffrey stated earnestly. “I know.” Embracing Odele lightly, Eddie kissed her on the cheek. “You’ve done good, Red. I’ll be around in a few days.… Got several things to handle first.” “Okay. I’ll be looking for you. I have amends to make for years of neglect. Please try to convince Ana to see me. I called Mama this morning—I’m going to Houston next week to introduce her to my husband and meet John.” Eddie held Odele in a warm embrace. “I don’t think she’ll need convincing. I’m sure she’d love to see you.… You’re right, it is time we reunite our family.” Smiling, Eddie exited the room; glancing back, he waved. As the golf cart took him back to his car, he closed the book on his past and looked forward to the chapters he would write in his future.

Chapter 36

Stopping in the main building, Eddie used the telephone to call home and check on Zuri and Mignon. “Hey, Unc, guess what?” Mignon asked, breathless with excitement. “What, baby?” “I’m going to be a model! Mom is on her way to discuss the details with Zuri—can you believe she agreed to it? She talked to Zuri for two hours on the phone and said it was okay! First I’m going to New York and then to Paris—what? Wait, hold on.… Z wants to speak to you.” “Hello? Oh, hey, baby.… How did everything go?” Zuri asked. “Fine…I’ll tell you about it over dinner tonight.” “Ooooh, are you asking me out on a date?” “Yeah…a permanent date…like every morning, noon and night for the rest of our lives.”

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“Well, I have to check my schedule…” She waited a beat—but she knew not to wait too long. “Okay, I’ve cleared my date book.… I’m free for the rest of my life.” “See you in a couple of hours. I have a few stops to make, then I want to hear all about my niece and her new career.” “Our new career—Ana agreed only if I become her agent.” “Damn!” Eddie exclaimed in mock exasperation. “I guess you’re going to force me to see the world…whether I really wanted to or not.” “You got it, handsome. See you soon.” Hanging up the phone, Zuri was beaming ear to ear. “What are you grinning about?” Mignon asked, dying of curiosity. “Well…I think your uncle just asked me to marry him!” “That quick? I hope you said no! After all, you haven’t had enough time to get to know him.” “No…I said yes.… And you’re wrong—I know him by heart.” Studying Zuri intently, Mignon decided that she would like her uncle to marry and be happy like her mom and stepdad, Richard. Too bad they had waited until they were so old or they even could have had kids. “What was that look about?” Zuri inquired, hopeful that Mignon would be happy for them. “Oh…I was just wishing you guys hadn’t waited so long because now you’re too old to have kids.” Stunned by her reply, Zuri said, “Oh, well. I guess us old folks will just have to adopt an old niece.” Hugging Mignon playfully, Zuri had not felt this lighthearted in years. By the time Eddie arrived at the house Ana had come over to meet Zuri and pick up Mignon. Zuri recounted how

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pleasant Ana had been about her chaperoning Mignon to New York, Paris and Milan. Eddie explained. “Baby, Blackgal…” Cutting him off, she inquired “Blackgal?” Her eyebrows were arched in uncertainty. “Yeah, baby…little family history. Odele wasn’t the only star in the Daniels household. Hell, she wasn’t even a Daniels when she was a star—she was Delia McKenzie. Ana, on the other hand, was celebrated throughout Europe. She was known as the Blackgal…a name given to her by our father. He despised her because she was darker than the rest of us and he thought she had been conceived during an extramarital affair.” “Whew…some family!” “Yeah, baby. Might as well walk in with your eyes wide open so you’re not blinded by the glitter. I want you to see the cobwebs and dust, too.… If you’re gonna change your mind, now would be the time.” “Change my mind about what?” Zuri questioned coyly. “Let’s sit outside on the terrace and enjoy the view.… Care for another drink?” Zuri’s mind reeled at the way Eddie switched subjects. Maybe he’s having a change of heart and chickening out, she thought. “No, thanks. I’m still working on this one.” With a sinking feeling she followed him, taking the seat across from him. She did everything in her will not to let him see her disappointment. No way she would ever replay that humiliating scene that she’d had ten years ago. As though reading her mind, Eddie interrupted her musings. “So, Zuri, how long has it been since we last got together for drinks?” Fuming, she could barely respond. “I’m not sure.… I really didn’t keep count.”

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“That’s too bad, Slick. But you know, take a guess.… I know how long I think it’s been. But how long do you think?” “Eddie…Eduardo…whatever you’re going by these days… I don’t know what type of game you’re playing this time, but I was serious last night. If it’s about a game I’d rather not play. So let me take a bow and exit this stage right now.” Without a backward glance at Eddie, Zuri got up to grab her shoulder bag and leave. “And for your information, it’s been ten years since we last had…drinks!” “Cool, baby…I was right.… Hold up a minute before you run out.… I have something I may need to have fitted, so if you can hold on a sec I’ll get it.” Unable to believe he was asking her to do a fitting, she said, “My mannequin days have been over for ten years. I’m sure you can find another girl to do a fitting—I got things to do!” Before she could turn away the first tears slid rapidly down her face against her will, propelled by the build-up of tears waiting release that she had unsuccessfully tried to restrain. “Wait a minute baby, here it is.… Still wear a size six?” Thinking he had lost his mind, Zuri reeled about, leaving no doubt as to her intent, when her eyes fell on the ring he held in his hand. “I had to be right, baby. You know, a carat for each year. If you had said eight or nine years…I would have had to take it back. Eula Mae…will you marry me?” Zuri almost knocked Eddie over as she leapt, hugging his neck and crying all at the same time. “Yes I’ll marry you, Eddie Daniels— I mean, since we’re using our real names here.” “Well, then, woman, let’s go get your things. Ana, Richard and Mignon are meeting us at the airport.… I chartered a flight to Vegas tonight…just in case you said yes.” “Ooooh, baby, let’s go!” Zuri exclaimed, admiring the brilliant-cut, ten-carat diamond engagement ring on her finger.

Chapter 37

Eddie and Zuri spent the first year of their marriage globehopping as Mignon’s agent and self-appointed chaperones. Despite his previous misgivings, Eddie loved Europe, especially Milan. They escorted, booked and chaperoned Mignon as she pursued her modeling career. Like her mother, Ana, Mignon had her own unique appeal. She’d come into her own enjoying the sights, sounds and sensations of Europe. Although she had not returned to Paris since she was thirteen, it took only a matter of a few weeks to regain her ability to speak French conversationally. Her exotic appeal was in high demand among the Italian and French designers. Always booked months in advance, she was on a roller-coaster ride. Mignon, like most girls, had fantasized about the modeling world from covers of magazines and photographs of models strutting down the runway. She learned that reality was harshly different from the glamour

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she’d imagined. Her days were rigorous and demanding, and Mignon lived in a perpetual state of exhaustion. However, living abroad did have its perks, especially if you were celebrated in the fashion world. Within months Mignon had learned to speak Italian; she also developed an ear for the Castilian Spanish spoken in Spain, where she’d frequently traveled for holiday. It was in Spain that she thought she’d seen her mother’s friend Pierre St. Honore. Spotting him from a distance, by the time she’d closed the gap enough to confirm his identity he’d driven away. Although Mignon worked runways in most of Europe she had developed a cultic following in America, often photographed in the most exotic outfit the designer created. Mignon had the ability to transform her stance, gait and appearance to mimic the designer’s concept design. If it was tiger print, she became a feline.… Brightly colored, she strutted like a peacock spreading its plume. Her appeal as well as her bookings rose. She was unlike the other models, who followed the formula—Mignon created one that worked for her. If she was mimicked she’d reinvent herself. Zuri had tried preparing Mignon for the shabbiness and harsh realities behind the scenes and out of sight of the winsome observer, but over time, neither Zuri nor Eddie could adequately shield Mignon from the games or protect her from the petty jealousies, betrayals and perversities. By the time Mignon was eighteen she was spinning out of control, having seen too much too soon. Neither Eddie nor Zuri could penetrate the shell of conceit Mignon had become encased in. She was beyond the point where she’d listen to anyone, frequently staying away for days at a time. Mignon had become one of the beautiful people, and like her peers, lived for the next party and good time. One evening after hanging out with friends and enjoying

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the Paris nightlife, Mignon stumbled into the town house having had too much to drink and too little to eat. She held her head between her hands to stop the painful pounding— she’d danced for hours and couldn’t wait to get into bed, where she planned to stay and sleep until she was completely rested. Heaven forbid she show up at rehearsals for the Armani show looking haggard. Walking into her room, she turned the knob against the wall to light the wall sconces enough to make her way in without stumbling. “Damn it!” she yelled in pain as she hit her toe on an unfamiliar object. She bent down to get a closer look. “Who in the hell put this suitcase in my room?” she asked no one in particular. “I did, baby.… Dad thinks it’s time to take you back home.” The blood drained from her face as a lamp from the corner of the room switched on and her father, Richard, sat with a paper folded across his lap, indicating he’d been there for a while. Self-consciously trying to straighten her clothes, knowing she looked a mess, she began trying to explain. “Sorry about the way I look.… I’ve been dancing—nothing else— with my friends. I’m just tired, Dad.… I need some sleep.” “Yeah, baby. You know, I heard you were a Moving Star…” “Naw, Dad, it’s not what you think!” “I know.… It’s just time for the Star to move back stateside…finish college.” “Finish? I haven’t even started. I’m just eighteen—plus, it’s still summer.… Why do I have to go now?” Mignon protested futilely. “I need some help this summer and I thought it’d be good training ground for you.” “Help? I don’t want to be a secretary!”

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“Wouldn’t think of it—as you know, I already have two…both efficient. I need you to work alongside me…be my shadow. Try it for the summer and then your mom and I thought USC would be good for your first year. If you don’t like it and your heart leads you back here, then you’ll be none the worse for wear. You’ll be nineteen and better equipped to handle your business.” “That’s just it! Zuri handles my business—I don’t have too.” “Well, it seems that Zuri and Eddie have resigned, effective today. They’re on their way back to Milan in the morning. They want to spend time with each other.… Now, I’m sure you can understand that. Zuri even took the liberty of helping me pack your things and settling your assignments. So you see, there’s no reason we can’t leave immediately.… Take a shower and change your clothes. Our flight leaves in three hours.” Standing up, Richard walked past Mignon to wait in the courtyard, indicating the subject was closed. He was angry and exhausted, having traveled all night to arrive in Paris after Eddie had called him in confidence the day before at his office. Against his better judgment, he’d told Ana he had an unplanned business trip to Europe and would try and visit Mignon, wanting to be able to speak to Eddie and Zuri and assess the situation before alarming his wife. Just as Eddie had stated, Mignon was out of control, and by his own admission it was putting a strain on them and their ability to restrain her. Richard had no intention of standing by and watching the debacle she was making of her life before she became an adult. When Ana had initially approved this undertaking, he had begrudgingly agreed, knowing that his wife was reminded of her ambitions when she was almost the same age. But times were different, and selling beauty versus entertaining audiences with your talent were two completely different animals in his eyes.

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A half-hour later Mignon appeared, scrubbed of any traces of makeup and wearing patchwork jeans and sandals. She looked like an eighteen-year-old girl, unlike she had only a short time ago. “I’m ready,” she stated sullenly. “Let’s go then.… I’ll tell Eddie and Z we’re leaving.” “Okay.… Can I do it, instead? I need to talk to them a minute.” Her eyes were brimming with tears. Richard nodded his approval and said, “I’ll be waiting in the car.” Knocking gently on the door to their room, Mignon was surprised when her uncle’s voice, clear of the grogginess of sleep, answered, “Come in, Fave…” Walking into the room, she sat on the foot of the bed, looking at her aunt and uncle feeling ashamed. “I wanted to tell you that, er, I’m going back with Dad.” “We know, baby.… It’s for the best,” Zuri stated softly, her voice filled with regret. “Yeah, right,” Mignon replied despondently dropping her head forward and staring blankly at the floor. She would at least make them feel bad for betraying her. “Look at us,” Eddie demanded, his tone uncharacteristically harsh. Glancing up in surprise, Mignon stared at Eddie like a deer caught in the headlights. “Noni, I have always called you my favorite…because of the love I have for your mother. I couldn’t help but pass that same love to her daughter. From the moment I saw you it was like I had been given what I would never conceive. I have only been cool this long with you because of your aunt. The only reason I called your father was because of your aunt. Now if you think that I’m gonna stand by while you try to run this bullshit game, think again, baby. I told your father if he didn’t

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come down here and get you, I was gonna snatch your black ass up and take you back myself. I’ll be damn if I’ll see you turned out.” She opened her mouth to protest and Eddie glared at her, continuing, “Noni, don’t piss me off and tell me it couldn’t happen. I’ve turned out enough nice girls without a backward glance. I’m not proud of it, but at the time it’s who I was. Baby…you’re spinning and don’t even recognize it. Your dad loves you…and he’s got a different vibe— there’s way too much of Studewood in me and you almost brought it out. Your dad is different. He deals with the problem and not the personality.… Soon as I called him he told me he was on the way and five hours ago he shows up at the door ready to take you back. You’re gonna go…and we’re gonna get on with our lives knowing that you’ll be just fine.” Huge tears rolled off Mignon’s face as she turned to go. “Uncle Eddie…Aunt Z—I’m so sorry,” she wailed, sobbing heavily. “Please don’t hate me!” Exchanging a stunned glance with Eddie, Zuri ran to her side, attempting to soothe her and quiet her crying. To her surprise, Eddie never moved. He just sat studying Mignon thoughtfully. “Favoright…I never said ‘hate.’ I told you I loved you like my own child…still do. Nothing can change that. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t give a damn what you did. Me ’n Z would be doing our own thing. As for sorry…don’t ever say you’re sorry unless you mean it. If you mean it, don’t say it…just change the action that made the apology necessary.” Throwing back the coverlet, Eddie slipped on his robe and walked over to Noni and Z. “We’ll walk you out, baby.… Once you get your head

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back on straight, you can come for a visit. Just let us know and we’ll send for you. Okay?” “Okay.… Love you guys.” Kissing them on their cheeks, Mignon turned away, walking toward her father. She would miss them, but in her heart she realized it was for the best.

MIGNON

Chapter 38

True to Richard’s word, Mignon spent the remainder of the summer shadowing her father, attending meeting after meeting and then debriefing over lunch or coffee. She’d had no idea his days were so rigorous and his schedule so demanding. Taxed beyond her limitations, she discovered that the fast-paced lifestyle of modeling couldn’t hold a candle to the one she now maintained with Dad. From time to time, she missed Paris, longing for the sights and sounds that it held. She spoke often to Eddie and Zuri, who had settled in Milan, Italy. However, since returning stateside she was enjoying getting to know her aunt Odele and uncle Geoff. It seemed as though Odele and Ana had healed beyond their past and were now kindred spirits, almost inseparable—they spoke to each other at least once a day. As a freshman at USC, Mignon felt much older than her peers and wise beyond her years. Growing accustomed to the

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routines of college life required some major adjustments for Mignon; thankfully, her friend Paula had also chosen to attend USC, so at least she had someone to hang out with. Paula and Mignon had been friends since elementary school and through time and distance had remained close. During class break they would meet in the student union and then walk to the quad to people-watch, deciding who was worthy of a second glance. One afternoon two guys, who were quite obviously jocks, approached them. Glancing up, Mignon recognized them as being stars of the basketball team. Although she wasn’t much for spectator sports, USC was a sports-driven college that elevated athletes to celebrity status on campus. Remaining nonchalant, Mignon didn’t respond when Nick Campbell introduced himself. “Hey, ladies.… What it is?” he inquired casually. “You ladies look bored—we’re losing our touch, Jay. Man…how did we miss these two beauties?” He turned back to his friend, holding his hand up to slap him five. Then he turned back to the girls. “I’m Nick Campbell and this is my main man, Jason Jarvis. Trojan basketball.” Feeling like she’d struck gold, Paula smiled brilliantly. “Hey, Nick, Jason. I’m Paula and this is my best friend, Mignon—but we call her Noni.” Mignon glared at Paula. She had already warned her that she was not interested in jocks, period. Catching Paula’s pleading glance she sighed, acquiescing. “Hey there.” Assuming he’d been invited, Nick boldly sat between Paula and Mignon as though he had to make a decision and chose. “My, my, both of you ladies look good.… Mmmm…I know you planning to go to the Kappa party after the game Friday.” Unable to stop herself from deflating his overinflated ego, Mignon replied, “Don’t have plans to go to a game. Gotta

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study. And—hmmm…” She put her fingers to her forehead and shut her eyes as if contemplating the party. “As for the party, let’s see…oh, yeah. Gotta study. If you all will excuse me I have to get to my next class. Ya know. Gotta study.” Turning to gather her books and purse, Mignon was startled by a loud belly-laugh coming from Nick’s friend, Jason. Until that moment she’d been so incensed by Nick that she hadn’t paid any attention to his friend. Turning back toward Jason and looking up—something she was unaccustomed to doing—she met his eyes filled with tears from laughter. Obviously he’d gotten a big kick out of seeing Nick at a loss for words. To her surprise, Jason’s mouth turned up in a warm smile as he held up his hand to high-five her. “Noni, huh? What it is? I don’t blame you—I’m not going to the frat party either. But miss the game! Now that’s unheard of…unless you have some life-threatening illness, I need you there cheering me on!” She smiled in spite of herself; there was something about Jason that immediately attracted Mignon, a gentleness and self-confidence in his gaze that belied his muscular exterior. He was not pretty or even handsome in the traditional sense. The only word she could think of to describe him was “manly.” She liked that he could engage in playful banter without any pretense—like asking her what sign she was. “I don’t know, Jay. What it is? Run it down, my man, convince me why I should change my mind and sit in the bleachers screaming your name.” “I can’t think of a better name for you to scream. Plus I can take you to an exotic French restaurant afterward,” he replied. Blushing, she said, “Now, where would that be and what makes you think I’d prefer French over anything else?” Mignon assumed he knew about her modeling in Paris and thought he was trying to impress her.

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“Well, for French, I can take you to Jacque En Z Box. Or if you prefer American…I will take you to another fine American restaurant—McDonald’s! Madame…I am very suave and de boney,” he responded with a mirthful expression, trying unsuccessfully to suppress the laughter. Neither Mignon nor Jason noted the cloud that seemed to have settled over Nick, who was not accustomed to being dismissed. Bursting out in an uncharacteristic fit of giggles, Mignon laughed till her sides hurt. “Okay, okay, I give.… Who could turn down an offer like that?” She gave Jason her phone number and he promised to call that evening after practice. As they walked away, Paula stared at her friend in astonishment. “What happened to your ‘no jocks’ rule? And on top of that he’s country—did you hear that accent? Oh my goodness, that boy must be from Podunk, Arkansas!” “That’s all right…as long as he’s my man from Podunk, thank you very much!” “Whew, girl. Only you would turn down somebody fine like Nick. Girl, did you see those green eyes and that wavy hair?” “Yep. Saw it, didn’t like it!” “Noni, that’s one of the many reasons why we’ll always be friends. We have completely different taste in men.” Smiling at her friend, Noni couldn’t wait for basketball practice to be over. True to his word, Jason called as soon as he made it to his dorm room. To their mutual surprise the effortlessness of their earlier conversation was repeated, and they stayed on the phone laughing and talking like old friends for hours. Before they hung up they made plans to meet at the library to study together the next day. Soon Mignon and Jason were a couple, always seen together on campus, holding hands and smiling or joking with each other. By their junior year even Mignon assumed they were in for the long haul, confiding to Paula that she had found her husband. Her

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parents also assumed they would marry, as Jason had become a fixture around the house whenever he wasn’t practicing. Mignon was so in love with Jason that she never thought he didn’t return her affection. She had no way of knowing the chiding he received from his friends and teammates that he was “whipped,” especially from Nick, who had never overcome his jealousy from the day they’d first met. Paula, whom he dated on and off, unknowingly gave him the ammunition he’d been waiting for to hurt Jason. Nick reasoned that once Jason knew about Mignon and how her father had had to go and get her because she was out of control, he’d thank him. One afternoon after practice ended, he started playing the dozens with Jay—a familiar exchange among the players. Without warning, Nick switched the object of his attack from the age-old victim—the opponent’s mother—to Mignon. Jay raised his brows in surprise at the first barb. “Nick, this is a hard one—since you don’t have a woman! Seems like I’m gonna hafta keep talking ’bout yo mama!” The men in the locker room exploded in laughter at Jay’s retort and then shushed each other to hear Nick’s comeback. “Nigga, yo nose is open so wide I could string you up on a telephone wire.… But then you’d hafta connect with all the other Frenchies and Italian boys that she’s strung up there.” “That’s stupid, man. What you talking about?” Jay grew serious. He’d had enough of these games and could feel himself getting pissed off. What is his problem? he wondered. “Your girl…didn’t she tell you she was a big-time model in Paris? Man—how can you not know a thing like that? Well, that just proves it!” “Proves what?” Blinking hard, Jason had to do everything in his power not to give in to the desire to punch Nick in the mouth. “Proves just what I said. Anyway, from what I heard she

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was so wild her daddy had to go and bring her back. Why else would she hide something like that? Most girls, it’d be the first thing they tell you!” “Go to hell, Nick!” Jason was almost blind with the anger that had now reached boiling. “Haven’t you ever asked yourself why she’d want a brokeass country boy when she’s driving a Jag? Now you know. You the only one backwoods enough not to know about her.” Nick’s words cut through Jason like bullets. His pride was bleeding through every pore. So thorough was his humiliation that the playful banter had died down. Enjoying every moment, Nick felt vindicated in being the one to give Jay his comeuppance. He had been so accustomed to getting the prize and Jay getting the leftovers that he was blinded to Jay’s embarrassment. Noticing the almost eerie quiet in the locker room, Nick looked around, smiling encouragement for his teammates to join in. Had he paid more attention, he would have seen Jason lose the battle with himself. “Nick!” Jason called out as he turned to leave. He turned around with a sneer and Jason’s fist connected with his jaw with enough force to lift Nick from his feet, knocking him out. Before the coaches could make it into the locker room, the fight was already over. “What happened in here?” A.J., the assistant coach, demanded. “Nothing happened, coach…except I quit. I came here to study anyway, not play ball.” Bending down, Jason grabbed his duffle bag, then walked past his teammates and returned to his dorm. He didn’t call Mignon that evening or the next day. At first, she assumed he was tired from practice—until he didn’t return her calls after several days had passed. Concerned, Mignon went to the dorm to visit but was told Jason had asked not to be disturbed. Calling Paula, Mignon was

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frantic with concern and had no idea her relationship had been jeopardized by her best friend. In tears, Mignon confided in Paula, telling her about Jason’s withdrawal. Confused, she didn’t know what else to do and sought the advice of her friend. By the time Paula spoke to her, Mignon was a basket case, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed from crying. Paula was angry with herself for being duped by Nick—she’d assumed they were having an intimate conversation between lovers, never once suspecting he’d tell Jason. Both women learned valuable lessons. Paula had always felt Nick was attracted to Mignon. While her intent had not been to hurt her, she’d wanted to poison any feelings of attraction that Nick may have had by casting a shadow over Mignon. Now she had to confess her participation as well as be the bearer of the reason Jason had quit the team—and quit her. Mignon sat quietly, listening to Paula recount the events of the past week. Once Paula had finished, Mignon got up without speaking and left. Driving home, she was numb with pain over her best friend’s betrayal, and by Jason’s reaction to her past. Pulling from past experiences, Mignon returned to the safety of the fortress that she’d erected as a child to protect her from external pain. Strengthening her resolve, she decided to let Jason deal with his own issues until he was man enough to approach her and give her the opportunity to tell him the truth. As the weeks passed, Mignon went out of her way to avoid the places where she would run into either Jason or Paula. She’d already decided to take night classes as soon as the semester changed, thereby avoiding them entirely. Jason’s ego was so wounded that he couldn’t see clearly beyond Nick’s painful accusation: Why would a girl like Mignon want him? That sentence haunted and convinced him. Overlooking the past three years, he turned his back, and

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like a man with a migraine settled on Debbie, a cool blonde who had pursued him since they’d taken a chemistry lab together, using her as an aspirin to kill the pain. Debbie was the first of a string of girls Jason used to soothe the emptiness caused by Mignon’s absence. The fact that it had been a month and they had not even crossed paths only confirmed his belief that she could take him or leave him. After a month, Paula could not take the forced separation or accept that she’d lost her best friend over a mistake. Determined to correct it, she sat on the hood of Mignon’s car until she returned. “I am so sorry,” Paula confessed through tear-filled eyes. “I was stupid and a little jealous…but I never meant in a million years for this to happen. Would you please forgive me, Noni?” Sighing deeply, Mignon’s initial reaction was to brush past Paula, get in her car and drive off. But there was also a part of her that missed the friendship they’d shared. Meeting her eyes, Mignon held them briefly, to assess her sincerity. “I forgive you—but if you ever pull that shit on me again, I’ll beat your ass, Paula.” Seeing her shocked response, Mignon threw her head back, laughing heartily for the first time in over a month. “Girl, if you could have seen the look on your face…priceless!” “Damn, Noni.… You had me fooled! For a minute I thought you were serious!” Now it was Mignon’s turn to look surprised. “I am serious, P. That hurt like hell.” “I know.… It won’t ever happen again. Hell, I won’t ever speak to anyone about you, let alone make them think I know something they don’t.” “Okay.… Bigmouth Paula, making a vow not to discuss my business.… I need to get this signed in blood for it to be any good.”

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Trying to look like her feelings were hurt, Paula couldn’t suppress the smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Girl, I’m hungry. Let’s go to the cafeteria and sit in the quad. Since we’re both single, we might as well return to the hunting grounds.” “You are a trip.… Okay, let me put my things in the car.” The two women, both striking, though in dissimilar ways, strolled confidently into the quad from the cafeteria, knowing all eyes were on them. Just as they were seated Jason entered the quad, hand in hand with Debbie. He immediately spied Mignon talking animatedly to Paula. When their eyes met he smiled down at Debbie. “Kiss me, girl,” he said, and she gladly complied. Glancing up, he saw Mignon’s back as she ran from the quad. Calling after Mignon, Paula looked at Jason, throwing him the finger and mouthing the words. He looked down at Debbie again; she smiled at him expectantly. “All right—uh, er—I gotta go.… I’ll call you, okay?” Stunned, Debbie felt almost panicked. “What’s wrong— what’s the matter?” “Nothing, Deb.… Just got some things to take of. I’ll give you a call…maybe next week.” “Screw you, Jason!” she screamed in frustration. “Too late…already been done,” he replied, more to himself than anyone else as he made his way back to his dorm. Never again, he thought. Jason felt horrible at what he’d done. But it was too late to rewind the tape. After the scene in the quad, Mignon changed her schedule entirely. During the days she worked for her father and in the late afternoon she took classes. She never wanted to see Jason again, and for months she mourned the loss of love by shielding herself in busyness, volunteering to help on any project so that by the time she finished the day she was too exhausted to cry.

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Eight months later she met Gerald in the law library. She had taken to studying there to avoid the possibility of running into Jason. Gerald was Paula’s type of man: light skin, wavy hair, light eyes. So intent was Mignon on getting over Jason, she never took the time to learn that Gerald was an opportunist and social climber. Mignon fit the bill in more ways than one for Gerald, so he put on the charm full blast, determined to claim her as the ultimate trophy. When he popped the question less than six months after they met, he thought of all the advantages that having a beautiful, well-bred wife would bring to an aggressive young attorney. Mignon, on the other hand, thought she could marry Gerald without ever having to worry about falling in love or being hurt the way she’d been by Jason. Three months later, against Paula’s admonishments, she married Gerald in a large formal wedding at their church. After the ceremony was final Mignon went through the motions in the receiving line, like a well-trained actress giving the performance of a lifetime. Leaving the wedding party, she returned to the bride’s dressing room and cried brokenly while Paula tried futilely to console her. “I’m okay.… It just hit me what I’ve done.… He’s not Jason and never will be.” “No, he’s not Jason, but there is a reason why you’re together. Just remember, God gives you free will…and in this instance you’ve exercised yours. You chose, Noni, like taking a pain killer. So, for you, I hope it works—that Gerald kills the pain…not gives you pain.”

Chapter 39

Staring at the journal, Mignon had reached her threshold, willing herself not to think about Jason or the debacle of her marriage to Gerald. Recounting the details of her past had caused her to emotionally relive experiences she’d thought no longer impacted her. Recalling how deeply she was in love felt like standing on a precipice, hoping not to fall in. It was important to write about this part of her life when she had clarity. Otherwise her daughters would misinterpret the message she was striving to impart in the journal when it was time for them to know their family history in detail. Closing the journal and returning it to the case, she stored it to be taken out and finished at a later date. Just as she stood up from her desk, the phone rang; sighing, she picked it up on the third ring. “Hello?” “Hey, Noni, you ready for your big date tonight?” “Oh, hey, Paula…Damn, I forgot all about it! I am not in the

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mood for Traci and these blind dates that she insists on setting up. Good thing you called or I’d have been missing in action.” “Well, why don’t you just tell her that you’re not interested in meeting a man right now?” “Yeah, right! That would go over well. And it’s not that I’m not interested—it just seems to be a waste of time at my age!” “Honey, at your age is when you need a little help from your friends,” Paula replied, not able to mask the laughter. “I beg your pardon. Thirty-nine is not old by any standards, especially in this next millennium.” “You’re right—thirty-nine is perfect if you’re a successful black man.… But darling, reality check: you’re a single black mother of three. There won’t be any lines at your door.” “All right, all right!You win. Damn, you can be brutal, girl!” “No…not brutal. Truthful. And only because I love you and I want you to be happy.” Twisting her hair around her finger, Mignon considered Paula’s comment thoughtfully before replying. “That’s just it, though.… I am happy.… I’m happy alone.” “Now I know you’re crazy! You can’t be happy alone when the rest of the world is out in search of our significant other— or trying to hold on to them. Hang up the phone, I’m on my way over. I can tell you’re in one of your moods, which means you may show up at the restaurant tonight looking like you sound! Dressed for self-sabotage, so you can tell me that there weren’t any sparks.” “Come on by. The kids are with my aunt for the night. Plus, I’ll enjoy the company while I get ready—but you have to promise to just enjoy a glass of whatever and not try to dress me for the prom…” With that, Mignon hung up the phone, knowing it was the only way she’d get the last word with Paula…whom she

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knew by now was gathering outfits from her closet to bring. Subconsciously, she knew it would take Paula’s persuasion to help her pull tonight off. If not, she would end up calling the restaurant at the last minute with some lame excuse and canceling out on dinner. Right now all she felt like doing was enjoying the quiet in her house, with the girls gone. Deliberating for a moment, she thought of doing just that—sitting by the pool and sipping a glass of wine. However, she could not bear disappointing Traci and Greg; they had been such loyal friends to her over the last few years. As Mignon awaited Paula’s arrival she decided to take a leisurely bath, hoping that it would mellow her out and take the edge off. It was inevitable that preceding any of these blind dates, she would always become tense—and if the truth were told—wary about the type of man she was meeting. What she couldn’t explain to Paula or Traci—hell, even to her own mother—was that after her divorce she had reached a place in her life that she didn’t want or need a man just for the sake of saying she had a man. At this point it had to be on her terms, which she believed to be realistic and not idealistic, as were the ambitions and aspirations of many of her acquaintances. Mr. Right-for-Me is how she described the man she was looking for. Until then, she contented herself with the belief that her life was completely full and she had no immediate desire for companionship. However, her self-prescribed celibacy was a testimony that made her acutely aware that the complexity and need for companionship could only be denied for a season. Even worse was the secret hope that she found herself harboring before each of these historically ill-fated dates. She would imagine that she would walk into the restaurant, concert, whatever, and there he would be, waiting, Mr. Right-for-Me. She would always have the same fantasy

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each time one of these dates was set…only to be more disappointed afterward than she would have been if she had stayed in and read a book. Even the thought of staying home alone was more appealing than a blind date. As a matter of fact, it had been a long time since she’d had peace and quiet, or a day off. The more she thought about it, the more she was tempted to beg off. But she could not face the disappointed silence that would follow her call to Traci or dream up an acceptable excuse…so her only choice was to go. Stepping into the warm water, she reclined, forgetting all about her freshly straightened hair until she felt the warm water creep around the edge of her scalp. Damn…damn… damn! she swore to herself. “Dana would kill me, having all her hard work destroyed in the tub. Oh, well…so much for the polished sophisticate. I guess he’ll have to like the everyday me or move onto other pastures.” With that, she drained the water from the tub and, stepping from the tub into the shower, allowed the water to rinse the hairspray and gel from her hair. This was the part that she really hated, all the pressure to be perfect, look perfect, act perfect.… The despised first impressions; it meant absolutely nothing in the scheme of things—instead of “first” impression, it should be called “false” impression. Typically, that’s all it was. Just advance notice so you could hide the real you and take on the attitudes of the person you’d really like people to believe you are. The killer was that all the preparation was just a waste of time. Anyway, it was not their measuring stick, but hers, that mattered in the end. Mignon had no problem finding men who were attracted to her—but typically, that was where it stopped. Physical attraction was a minor part of the equation as far as she was concerned. The part that really mattered was

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the area that was a falling-out for her each time. She hated shallow conversation and men who were looking for a trophy—which, unfortunately, had been the standard in her circle of friends. So Mignon retaliated by using a method for determining the depth of a man with a technique she called her “one-two knockout punch.” When she had reached her own mental plateau on a blind date, she would direct the conversation from light to cerebral topics and watch the reaction. The outcome would vary; some men were very intrigued by intelligent women, so if they successfully passed that test, she moved in with the knockout punch. She would mention her three children, intricately weaving them into the conversation and then dropping the subject. She would see the surprise register and could almost see the wheels in their heads and the knob turning, dimming the light of interest. At this point they often retreated, subconsciously adjusting their posture so that if you missed the other signals, the body language was loud and clear. They were out looking for fun, and on that end she was much too serious. Smiling to herself, she knew they were having Claudine flashbacks—automatically assuming that she must be looking for marriage and commitment, a father figure, or at the very least, help. At this point in the dialogue she would mentally begin counting backward from ten to see how far she’d get before she was asked the question that always seem to follow. To date, the record was five. As they’d try to decide how to ask her the question she’d nicknamed “The Qualifier,” she would decide on her response, which tended to vary according to her mood. “Mignon.” For some reason it never failed that the question always began with her name. “Is your, uh, ex very involved with the kids?” The real question that they wanted to ask was, “Does he

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pay child support and take the kids for summers and rotating holidays?” Her response varied according to her mood; however fair or unfair, this question, designed to offer her a chance to explain or qualify her past, was also the question that disqualified the date for her. It was the most insulting part of the evening, as insulting to her as it would have been to her date if she’d asked him if he’d had any children during his teens— and did he support them or participate in their lives? Or, if in fact he was divorced with children, it would be the same as her asking how much time and money he spent with them. The bottom line was that it did not matter in the scheme of things. They were only on a blind date, and for all intents and purposes, total strangers. This was not the type of information that should be readily shared with strangers. It was almost a given that by the end of the night they’d ultimately have a higher probability of remaining strangers than of developing even as acquaintances. On the first occasion that she had been asked this question, almost two years ago, Paula had arranged the fateful evening. Mignon had just opened her own business and thought it was time to re-enter the world and start dating. Before the appetizer was served, her date, a music producer, began to probe her about her background. Paula could see that the questions had almost set Mignon’s teeth on edge, so before she could reply, Paula completely switched topics to what was apparently his favorite subject: his current music project. Mignon loved music in all genres, so the remainder of the evening went fairly well, and she was able to deflect the conversation away from her. As soon as she arrived home that evening, Paula called her. “Hey, kiddo.… It was a little touch-n-go tonight, huh?” “No…it was okay.… I just don’t think we had a whole

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lot in common. As a matter of fact, I know we had nothing in common.” “That’s not true—he was very interested. You on, the other hand, were extremely defensive.” “You’re reading way too much into this. First of all, I was not defensive—I don’t think that just because I’ve agreed to a blind date my life automatically becomes an open book to someone that I don’t know and that I’m not even sure if I ever want to speak to, let alone see, again.” “My point exactly: you’re too defensive. Take some friendly advice.… I know that you’ve been off the dating thing for a while. But from now on, when you’re asked if you have kids, just simply answer yes. No details necessary—a man needs to see you as a woman first, before he thinks of you as a mother. So relax, please!” “Well, I guess you’re right.… I haven’t dated in a while. But one thing I know for sure is I am both a woman and a mother. I won’t deny or qualify either one. Paula, this is uncommon ground for you—you’ve never had to explain on either count.” “Ouch! You see, now, if I was sensitive about this wifemotherhood crap it’d be a little ugly right now. Anyway, I’m not asking you to deny anything. As a matter of fact you couldn’t deny it. But, Noni, you have to admit that there are so many varieties of unwed black women with children, that it is almost innate for a black man to attempt to qualify your background early on. I think you’re way too sensitive about the subject.” “That’s not true—in fact nothing could be further from the truth. I have no problem in sharing that information. But at least there should be foundational conversation to determine if an interest exists for either of us, before pursuing this line of questioning…that’s all. And maybe you’re right, I’m not

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ready to date yet. But at least I’m not asking anyone to present their financials or their background. It’s not like the varieties of ‘unwed black women,’ as you just described me—or more appropriately, black mothers—acquired their status of unwed motherhood alone. However it happened, a night of fun, a promise broken or vows destroyed, it becomes our burden by default. The black man can walk away.… If he starts making babies at twelve or fourteen years old, no one asks and no stigma is attached, especially if he goes on to become established in a career, or marries and has a family. If he divorces and it is known, that is where we start. If he never marries and never acknowledges fathering a child, no stigma attached. Now let’s reverse the story for a black girl of twelve—” “Whoa—get off the soap box—it’s not that serious! I was just trying to make you see how silly you looked this evening when you became upset…” “How silly I looked? Girl, I’m gonna let you go before I get pissed!” “Wait, Mignon! I was not making any accusations about you being an unwed black mother or even putting you into the same category. Honey, you know I admire how you’ve come through this alone. I just don’t think you have to stay alone, that’s all.” “That’s just it! I don’t think I was being silly.… And you’re wrong. I am in the same category as all unwed black mothers. It is how you would describe me—you cannot then separate me. I am not alone, Paula. I just happen not to have a man in my life now.… If I’m okay with that, then you have to be okay with it, too.” “I don’t believe you…that you’re ‘okay with it too.’ I just think you’ve given up, and I won’t let you.” “Sweetie, if I had given up, you couldn’t stop me.… Now, I’m going to hang up the phone and go to bed. You know my day starts at o’dark thirty.”

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“All right, I’ll let you go.… But just give it some thought. By the way, I’m going to bring a group from my firm over to Cinnamon’s tomorrow afternoon for a planning session, so I’ll see you then.” “You will as long as no one in that group is a blind date for me.” Mignon knew that would get a laugh. “Okay, you caught me.… It is a group of gay hairstylists and you never know.… You could check them out from a distance and let me know later.” “You are absolutely crazy…do you know that?” “Yes, I know that—and now that you do, expect the unexpected!” Both women hung up the phone laughing, neither unable to hold any anger against the other.

Chapter 40

A s she stepped from the shower, the doorbell rang, signaling Paula’s arrival just as Mignon finished drying off and putting on her robe. Hmmm, she thought. Paula must have broken all the speed records. She made it to Ladera Heights from Santa Monica in less than thirty minutes. “Hey there!” She greeted her friend with the usual hug. “What took you soooo long? Cars get in your way?” “Not today—I put the Porsche into P and let it puurrr past them!” Both women laughed girlishly at their senseless humor.… it was the way they had bantered since they’d become fast friends in school in the seventies. In fact, Paula and Mignon were more like sisters than friends, each completely able to trust the other with their secrets as only sisters can. “You can throw your wardrobe on the couch.” Mignon

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gestured toward the den. “I hope you didn’t forget you’re three inches shorter and didn’t include pants in that group?” “I am not three inches shorter! I am exactly an inch shorter than you, and of course I brought pants…capris, of course.” “Mmmm…let me take a look at the light blue linen dress…” “I knew it would be the one you chose, and you’re right, it will look perfect on you—especially with your hair and complexion.… Speaking of which, why did you wet your hair? You just couldn’t be a black man’s fantasy and wear your hair straight—you had to go for the you’re-so-unimportantI-wouldn’t-even-bother-combing-my-hair look.” “No…I just thought I’d go au naturale. I mean, if he can’t take the real me, I may as well find out sooner than later.” “Never mind.… I didn’t mean to open Pandora’s box of twisted philosophy. Where’s the Pellegrino? On second thought, where’s the chardonnay?” “Second shelf toward the back.… It’s chilled. I knew you’d change your mind about the Pellegrino.” “Shall I pour a glass for you?” Paula inquired as she inspected the contents of the refrigerator and shook her head. Nothing but snacks for kids…no imported cheeses or sinfully delectable chocolates, exotic fruits or take-out containers— standard fare in her home. I am definitely not the motherly type, she thought for the ten-thousandth time…with the nagging idea that she was somehow deluding herself. But for now, she was happy with the status quo. She and Cedric, a highly sought after director, had been living together for five years and things were still going well. It still gave her butterflies in her stomach whenever she thought of him. Sexually she was as attracted to him as she had been from the beginning. Now, her only personal quest was to help Mignon right herself after the rough ride she had taken during her marriage. It was because of Mignon that she and Cedric were together;

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for this, she could never repay her.… She just wished that there was someone in Mignon’s not-too-distant future who could penetrate the fortress she had built around herself after her divorce. It was Mignon and her girls—the fortress—and the rest of the world, in that order. Paula sent up a silent prayer asking that tonight Mignon would meet that special someone that would change her life for the better. Dear God, she petitioned, let the walls of Jericho come tumbling down. Returning to the master bedroom, she sat on the side of the bed admiring how homey Mignon had made her house. From the moment she stepped over the threshold, she felt as if she had arrived home and could kick off her shoes, get comfortable and just relax. The funny thing was that she could never put her finger on what it was that made it feel this way. There was no comparison between the home that Mignon and Gerald had when she was married and this ranch home in Ladera Heights. In fact, this house seemed like a bungalow. Nonetheless, it flowed with a comfort that made even a first-time visitor want to kick off her or his shoes and curl up with a book. “I don’t know how you do it, Noni…but this place is so warm and comfortable.” “Well, for starters, I never let the heat drop past sixtyseven degrees.” “Okay, smarty. You know what I mean, though, don’t you? Cedric and I always talk about it. We’re even thinking about hiring you to help us decorate when the house is finished.” “It’s called love, Paula. I am in love…with a second chance…with life and my children. That’s what you feel, nothing more, nothing less. And aren’t you guys big-ballers?” “What are you talking about now?” “I mean, you must be rolling if you can afford to hire me, girlfriend.”

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“All right—I can see now I’m talking to someone with no sense. Changed my mind, on second thought you might have a flashback to your psychedelic period.” “Girl…don’t you even bring that up again.… It was just a phase.” “Okay, okay. Let’s see you in the blue linen. I know you’re just stalling for time so you have a reason not to go.” “No, you’re wrong.… I’m actually looking forward to this. I just remembered that Traci’s twin sister Staci is in town. If I know her, she will be more interested in pairing her sister with this eligible bachelor than little ole me.” “Priceless. Only you would welcome competition on a date. Okay, where is this cozy fivesome supposed to take place?” “Reign, in Beverly Hills.” “Well, at least you’ll have great food and atmosphere—you know, just in case your date pairs off with Staci and you’re the odd woman out.” “Gee, thanks for your words of encouragement. What would I do without your vote of confidence?” “Well, for starters, you’d have no one to come running to help you get dressed. By the way, the blue linen is a knockout on you.” “I must admit, it is sharp.… Oh, wait, I have some bad Vera Wang sandals.” Mignon tried the sandals on, turning to admire her reflection in the full-length mirrors of her dressing room. “You’re right, they are sharp—but the heel has to be at least three inches.…You know, that makes you nearly six foot three. I get it, you’re going to dwarf the guy and intimidate him!” Looking at each other, both women burst out laughing. “Well, he’ll probably be four inches shorter than me and fantasizes about being with a statuesque woman. Okay, enough of this—how is my hair?” She had no idea why she was putting so much time into her appearance tonight.… The

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thing she was certain of was that this would not be Mr. Rightfor-Me. Oh, well, it never hurt to look your best. “Paula, I’m running late—would you hand me the purse for these shoes, while I look for a light wrap?” “Found it! Hey…found the wrap, too!” Handing Mignon her wrap and purse, Paula stood back and admired her friend. As Mignon transferred the contents of her purse over to the smaller bag, Paula said, “Tell me about this guy.… Who is he, what does he do?” “I’m not certain.… For some reason I think he’s a potential investor that Greg is trying to persuade to invest in a new project. So this is probably more business than pleasure, and for all I know Staci and I are just window dressing.… His name is Jason.… Now, you know that name brought back memories.” “Oh, man! You’d pass out if you walked in and it was your Jason you’d been set up with.” “ ‘My’ Jason? Girl, he hasn’t been mine since college.… And I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’d be cool.” “Yeah, right—who you talking to?” “I didn’t say I’d stay cool, I said I’d be cool.… Girl…the J heartbreak sent me in a lot of bad directions…namely, Gerald. But I learned a good lesson, though: never marry the rebound man. You’re not thinking straight and definitely not seeing straight.” “Spilled milk. That was then—you’re both older. You never know what you’d find now.” “I know what I’m not finding: Jason Jarvis waiting at the restaurant for me, as no other than my blind date. Anyway, I better get going—as it is, I’m already going to be a few minutes late.… And you know Traci!” “Who are you kidding? You drive worse than me.… I’ll lay money that you beat them to the restaurant—and they live in Beverly Hills!”

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“Only because they drive slow.… Stay up…I’ll call you when I get in and fill you in on the details. Tell Cedric it’ll take all of two to three minutes, max!” As they both got into their cars and started the engines, Mignon rolled down her window, waving to get Paula’s attention. “Thanks for my knockout look tonight. I couldn’t have pulled it off without you.” “No prob.… Remember, I’ll be waiting on the details.… Love ya, kiddo!” “You too! Talk to you later!” Heading north on San Vicente Boulevard, Mignon cut through traffic, trying to hurry so they wouldn’t lose their reservations. Reign had a strict policy not to seat partial parties. Checking her watch, she had less than five minutes to spare as she pulled into the valet parking line and called Traci to advise her that she would be walking through the door momentarily. Picking up the call, Traci noticed Mignon’s number on the caller ID. “Don’t tell me you can’t make it.” “Wrong, wrong, wrong! I’m getting out of my car as we speak.… Look toward the door, darling. I know you’re hungry—so you may as well make your words the appetizer and start eating them! There you are, and here I am!” Waving at Traci, she hung up the phone, pleased with herself for not being predictable and canceling out. Walking toward the group seated around a table in the bar, she felt a boldness and self-confidence that was a rare combination for her. Instead of waiting for an introduction, she embraced Traci, Staci and Greg, then turned to look up at the man whom Traci had spoken very little of. Shifting her expression imperceptibly, Mignon smiled coolly. “Hey. Jason.” Holding out her arms, she hugged him in a light embrace. “I can’t believe we run into each other after all these years.… It’s so good to see you.” Mignon took a deep

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breath to calm the fluttering in her stomach, ignoring the exchanged glances of surprise from Greg and Traci. “It’s nice that you guys were here on time, for once!” She spoke to the group at large, noting Traci’s look of astonishment. “You two already know each other?” Greg asked, unable to mask his surprise. All the time he had mentioned Mignon, Jason had never let on he already knew her. “Oh, yes.… Jay and I have known each other since during my runway years, when I was juggling college with my career. You know, we were both at USC then we just lost touch, like people do after they finish school.” Feeling all eyes on her, Mignon continued compulsively. “What a pleasant surprise.… Jay, I hear you’re like the black Bill Gates—you’re the last person I’d expect Greg to try and convince to fund one of his gangsta rappers!” Smiling brightly, she knew that she’d probably pissed Greg and Traci off for even mentioning the project…or acknowledging Jason’s well-publicized wealth and success. Typically, Mignon would have been quiet and self-contained, as she’d too often demonstrated on the previous blind dates that Traci and Greg had set up. Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Jason studied Mignon closely. Of course, with Greg’s description of Mignon, he’d been more than prepared for her to still be as stunning as she’d been when they met in college. But her beauty was not what motivated him to want to see Mignon. It was a part of her…but it was not the part that he remembered most. In college he had been a star athlete and then became a successful entrepreneur; consequently, he had been exposed to too many stunningly beautiful airheads to last him a lifetime. Jason recalled how Mignon had been his lover and best friend.… He’d been able to tell her anything. Over the years she had never been far from his mind. Studying her intently,

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Jason knew her well enough to know she had become talkative to camouflage her anxiety. Mignon’s composure was slipping, and Greg and Traci had never seen this side of her. Amused, he watched the exchange of glances between the couple; he could almost read Traci’s mind: glad she had invited her sister. From her expression, he knew she had written Mignon off. At first Jason had been almost skeptical about pursuing contact with Mignon, based on Traci’s description of her as remorseful over her divorce. After several calls to mutual friends he’d learned nothing could be further from the truth. Traci’s description of Mignon was of an emotional cripple bordering on becoming a recluse—facts that she only alluded to but did not come out and confirm. Greg had probably caught hell for suggesting Mignon instead of her sister.… So instead of a double date it was a group outing, and he had to play the disinterested friend. One thing was for certain: Mignon was a very outgoing, self-assured woman, fitting none of his preconceived expectations. Before long they were engaged in conversation as though there’d been no separation of years. She was the same, yet different…better. Mignon reminded Jason of the girl he’d been in love with in college and of the woman he’d missed seeing her become. Their conversation was lively and fun— she still had a way of throwing her head back laughing heartily, totally unconcerned with the perceptions of correctness of those around her. Withdrawing, Jason enjoyed watching her banter back and forth with Greg and Traci Renfro. After cocktails they were seated for dinner, and again he found himself enthralled as Mignon followed directly behind the maitre d’ as though leading the way for the rest. She did not lag behind, as would the average unescorted woman who

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is in a group and is basically the odd one out. As they were seated around the table, conversation flowed effortlessly, as though it were a gathering of old friends. Since Jason had made his fortune as an Internet geek he had become accustomed to a constant string of blind dates and set-ups, with stilted and strained conversations as standard fare. Jason had made his fortune in his twenties and was considered a quiet genius because he shied away from the spotlight. However, it hadn’t taken him long to become comfortable with his wealth and lifestyle. He enjoyed his freedom and the lack of complexity afforded him as a bachelor, so he was always amused that he would be considered eligible when he had never made or given any indication of wanting to be committed to one woman. Because he was an exceptionally tall, athletically built black man, it was automatically assumed that he was a former athlete. Even though it was partially true, it was such a stereotypical reaction that he could not help but feel insulted. After years of being approached with a series of ignorant questions or statements, he had developed a cadre of responses. True to form, Staci had just asked him if he was a former athlete. Without thinking, he turned to Mignon, meeting her eyes with a smile. “Yeah…you could say that.… I tried to play a little b-ball, then I decided I did better with books than balls…no pun intended.” Catching the embarrassed smile on Staci’s face, Mignon turned away for fear of having a giggling fit—the kind that only he seemed to bring out of her. Watching Mignon struggle for self-control, Jason relaxed back in his seat. Now, for the first time since he’d arrived in L.A., he was finally enjoying the trip, and he welcomed the reunion and stimulating conversation with this charmingly intelligent woman he had known once but had been too immature to confess his love

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to. Instead he’d allowed his mind to be poisoned and had retaliated against her, allowing her to see him in a situation that he knew would cause her to leave him. As if choreographed, she did, and he’d never quite recovered. Just as Mignon recalled, Jason was not the run-of-the-mill handsome or even polished man. He was just a real man…manly in stature, presence and opinion. Mignon found that, like before, she was completely intrigued by him, although he’d offered no indication of interest in her other than the immediacy of the evening—although he laughed and teased, he showed no favoritism in his interest. In fact, that was part of what intrigued her the most. She was certain beyond a doubt that he still found her attractive and interesting, but his intent seemed to be no more than to have a great evening with fun company. As the evening came to an end, she found herself trying to think of ways to prolong it. Before she could think it through, she’d invited them to come to Cinnamon’s for coffee and dessert—after all, she reasoned to herself, it was only ten and the coffeehouse stayed open until midnight. And after she’d left them she would have gone to her restaurant until closing time, anyway. This time both Traci and Greg had been unable to disguise their looks of astonishment: Cinnamon’s had always been taboo with Mignon on a blind date. According to her, the last thing she wanted was to be introduced to someone she never wanted to see again and then have them show up at the coffeehouse on a regular basis. This was the first time, to their knowledge, that she had invited anyone to Cinnamon’s; she had never even intimated that she owned a restaurant. If asked, she simply stated she worked at a coffeehouse in Fox Hills, always being as vague as possible. Of course, they had no intention of turning down her invitation. “Yeah, uh, er—that sounds great, and it’s on the way to

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Jason’s hotel. How about it, are you guys in the mood to hang out a little longer?” Greg inquired to make sure everyone was on board. “I can’t wait!” Staci chimed in agreement. “Traci has told me all about your place, Noni. I didn’t want to be pushy…but I’ve been dying to see this hot spot!” Jason turned to Mignon, scrutinizing her silently; catching her eyes in his, he smiled and acquiesced. “It seems Cinnamon’s it is.… Lead the way, my lady!” Again, Mignon’s stomach fluttered without warning. As the valets brought their cars, Mignon was disappointed again. While they stood together in a group, waiting, she expected him to volunteer to ride to the restaurant with her. Instead, he and the others climbed into Greg’s Lexus as they had come, and followed Mignon to the coffeehouse. Driving from Beverly Hills to Fox Hills, she called Paula, hoping she’d help to calm her nerves, which were completely on edge. “Paula…” “Hey there…on your way home already?” “Uh, not exactly…to Cinnamon’s.” “Girl, give yourself a break and go home—not to work.” “Well, that’s just it. I’m not going to work. Greg, Traci and the others are following me for coffee and desserts…” Silence filled the line so long that Mignon thought she had lost the connection. “Damn!” she exclaimed in exasperation. “What? What happened—I mean, are you okay?” “Oh, you’re there! I thought we’d been disconnected, you were so quiet. I was just getting ready to call you back.” “No, I mean you must really have made a connection with this guy if you invited him to Cinnamon’s…right?” “Wrong. Girl, it is Jason!” “What do you mean, ‘It is Jason’?” she said, realization dawning. “You mean Jarvis?”

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“Yes…that’s what I mean. Girl, he is still fine…and I am not about to let myself go there again.” “Well, then, why are you taking him to Cinnamon’s?” “Because I want him to see it! I want him to know what he missed…” Mignon could not believe that after all these years she could still become emotional over a man who had kicked her to the curb when she was desperately in love with him. “Calm down, girl, you do not want him to see you upset. You know you can’t hide your feelings well.” “I’m fine.… I should have waited to call you. It’s just that tonight has been like old times—he’s still easy to talk to, and I am having so much fun.” “Then relax, Noni. Have fun and see what tomorrow brings.… Take deep, soothing breaths—I can tell from way over here your nerves are on edge. Honey, I’m sure he’s feeling the same as you and probably is just as unsettled as you are.” “All right.… Gotta go, I’m here.” “Okay. Call me no matter what time you get home.” “Okay.… We probably won’t be there long. Jason…has an early meeting tomorrow and they have to drop him off in the Marina. He’s staying at the Ritz Carlton. ’Bye.” Hanging up the phone, Mignon took Paula’s advice and took deep breaths to calm the uncharacteristic butterflies in her stomach. Why should I be nervous? she thought as she stepped from the SUV and waited at the entry to Cinnamon’s.

Chapter 41

As they approached the entrance, she dramatically swept open the door in a combination bow and curtsy. “Welcome to Cinnamon’s Coffee and Comestibles!” she stated, feeling a twinge of well-deserved pride. Again she caught the scrutinizing look from Jason, and again his eyes softened when their eyes met, followed by a crooked smile. Mignon’s stomach lurched with butterflies and before she could control it she felt herself blushing. Turning away, she invited them to follow her as she took them on a tour of the coffeehouse, finally coming to a stop before the dessert bar. Stepping away, she asked her manager to make an assorted platter of desserts with selected coffees and condiments. Then she led the way to her favorite seating area in front of the fireplace, where firewood always burned regardless of the weather outside. Kicking off her sandals, Mignon curled up on the deep-cushioned sofa in front of the

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fireplace. She was pleased when she saw them enjoying the assortment of desserts and coffees. Sitting across from her in an overstuffed chair, Jason enjoyed the effortless manner in which Mignon engaged everyone in conversation. Oblivious to his scrutiny, Mignon was both entertaining and interesting; he could not believe that she still had the same affect on him after all these years. Mignon, for her part, was as intrigued by Jason as though there had been no interruption; she was enthralled by the stories of his travels to locales she’d never heard of. The small group ended up closing the place down, staying even after she let the staff go for the night. Finally, around one a.m., Greg and Traci tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. Mignon and Jason had sunk into an intimate conversation of their likes and dislikes—to their mutual surprise and satisfaction, much had not changed. Without either of them being aware of it, the conversation had lasted for hours. Staci had fallen fast asleep in her chair and Greg and Traci were obviously being polite and hanging on by a thread. “Well, I think that’s my cue that I’ve kept everyone up too late. The coffee is perfect. If I were a resident, this would be my favorite place,” Jason said. “Well, then, it’s my loss of a great customer.… I’m pleased that you all decided to take me up on my invitation.” “Nonsense…I never pass on a good dessert.” “Mmmm.” Mignon smiled at the double entendre. As the group walked to the door, Jason lagged behind. “I’ll meet you guys at the car,” he said. Turning back, he placed both hands on her shoulders. “Noni…it was great to see you again.” “Same here, Jason.… Who would have thought we’d accidentally be set up on a blind date almost twenty years later?” “It was no accident.… I knew.” He watched the play of emotions cross Mignon’s face, settling on surprise.

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“You knew?” “Yeah.… Thought it’d be the only way you’d ever speak to me again…” Again Mignon felt herself blush, to her chagrin. “Well…was it worth it?” “Yes…if you’ll see me again. And yes…if I only had this one chance to see you again.” “I have three children,” Mignon blurted out. “I, uh, I mean, things aren’t as simple as they were twenty years ago.” “You’re stammering!” he said, smiling, unable to stop himself from kissing the tip of her nose. “And as you put it…so eloquently, I might add…things are as simple as you’ll allow.… I hope to be able to meet your children someday. All girls, right?” Winking, Jason grinned from ear to ear as he watched Mignon’s discomfort, knowing her mind raced as she wondered how he knew about her children. “Noni, I swore to myself if you were ever single again, I’d find you and win you back…that is, if you were still interested in me. I can’t let the night end until I hear from you that it’s okay.… At least let’s give it a try.” “How do you know so much about me?” she inquired uneasily. “Baby, I’ve made a point to check through mutual friends to see how you’ve been.… So there is not a whole lot that I’m not aware of…except the things in your heart. If you can forgive me my vanity and insecurity in my youth, I promise never to do anything that would make you regret your decision to accept me back into your life.” Mignon stared into the eyes of the only man she had ever truly loved and knew there was no way she would deny him. “Jason…I forgave you a long time ago. It took two to mess things up—you didn’t do it all by yourself.… Okay…let’s see where this goes. I know how I feel right now, how I felt when

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I saw it was you at the bar. It’s funny, I have been praying for Mr. Right-for-Me.… Who knows, maybe you’re him,” she said, winking suggestively. Waving his hand at the waiting car he called out, “I’ll catch a cab, guys.… Had a great time. Greg, I think we have a deal—I’ll be in touch.” Turning back to Mignon, he said, “Now, we left off with you saying I was Mr. Right-for-You?” “I said you may be Mr. Right-for-Me!” Catching and holding his eyes with hers, she flirted, winking conspiratorially. “Well, I am him, of that I’m certain…even if I have to spend the rest of my life proving it.” “Okay.… Just let me know when you’re ready to start.” “Right now!” He opened the passenger door for her as her father had done years before. “I’ll drive, m’lady,” he announced with false bravado, watching the play of expressions cross her face. “But you can give directions…to the Ritz.” Grinning and fighting back tears, Mignon leaned against him, allowing him to take her into his arms and kiss her as she had imagined since she’d first laid eyes on him. His kiss told her more than words could. As his lips pressed against hers in a kiss that explored her soul, she thought, it’s been a long time coming and a lot of living—but here I am, able to exclaim—I have been Reborn…

EPILOGUE

Chapter 42

The sound of the ocean lapping against the side of the yacht made Ana want to second-guess her decision to dock in Spain. After all, there was no reason for her to stay here, of all the places she had visited. She spent the entire morning volleying her decision back and forth, her anxiety growing at the thought of going ashore. Just when she’d made the decision to set sail again, despite her decision the night before, she’d begun to have a nagging desire to go ashore. Maybe that will put me at peace.… Probably just been at sea too long, she thought, trying to rationalize her indecisiveness. Dressing to visit the shops at port, Ana paid special attention to her appearance; after all, it had been years, literally, since she had gone into town for a day of shopping. Standing on deck and finalizing the arrangements with the crew, she was awestruck when she noticed the name on the yacht docked in the slip next to hers. Stopping in mid-sentence, she

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made her way down the plank, impatiently pushing aside the captain’s proffered hand as he tried to assist her. Walking purposefully to the neighboring slip, she read the ship’s name again to be certain her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. Curiosity compelled her to find out why the ship bore that name. Seeing no one in view, Ana walked up the plank without invitation. Reaching the deck, she saw the captain, who seemed to be charting the course with a man she presumed to be the owner. Both men had their backs turned, studying the course they would sail with interest. She cleared her throat to gain their attention. Both men turned toward her. As she stared in recognition, the blood drained from her face and her breath caught in her throat. “Le Fonce Fille”—the Blackgal, the man said. “Mon Fille noire…vous’ve m’est retourné.” My Blackgal, you’ve returned to me! Ana could not believe her eyes. Although it had been twenty-five or thirty years since they’d last seen or spoken to each other, she immediately recognized Pierre…the father of her only child. The enormity of his words overwhelmed her as the realization of her travels and her habit of rarely venturing ashore until today hit her. She had traveled the world for several years, never stopping…until she’d reached Spain. Then, as though she’d been tapped on the shoulder, she knew it was time to go on with her life and stop sailing aimlessly to pass the days and nights. Pierre, whose hair and mustache were now pure white, walked toward Ana, embracing her as though they had just parted hours before.… His touch was like electricity, the current passing between them reigniting. Suddenly she felt the same gentle wind engulf her that had brushed past the night before.… Smiling, she understood she

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had Richard’s blessing, that he had led her to Spain. But God! she thought, as a smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “Non j’ai fait’t revient.” No, I didn’t come back. “L’amour m’a rapporté le.” Love brought me back. “Alors l’amour fera vous restez cette fois le.” Then love will make you stay this time. “Oui, mon amour.”—Yes, my love. “Oui.” Yes.

Chapter 43

Mignon traveled to Barcelona with her children to reunite with her father, Pierre. Her life had come full circle, not only was she meeting Pierre with the knowledge that he was indeed her father, but to her surprise she found that through the valley she had released all animosity and celebrated her mother’s renewed happiness. Celebrating their joy, they spent several weeks together getting reacquainted. It was just like she remembered their first meeting, when she was thirteen years old. Pierre was the same, but quite different.… This time he was free to show his love. He explained that his hasty departure in France had been due to the death of his wife and young daughter in a car accident in Barcelona. Overwhelmed with guilt, by the time he returned to Paris he found Ana and Mignon had gone back to America. Now, as a woman, Mignon could understand what she would never have comprehended as a child. As a parent, she couldn’t fathom his

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loss.… So as she’d done with her mother, she allowed him his mistakes, holding no one accountable for something unforeseen or uncontrollable. It was a wonderful time of reunion, and Spain was the perfect setting. The girls adored their “other” grandfather and stood in line to show their St. Honore birthmarks. Pierre was overwhelmed with emotion, holding Ana’s hand tightly. “Thank you,” he said. “For what?” she asked in surprise. “For saving me.… I was lost, and you found me!” “No…God found us…and made us whole.” Bittersweet events had touched them both, but now they had another chance. Turning back to her daughter, Ana stated, “I hate that you and the girls have to leave so soon.” “Soon? We’ve been here a month! Plus, I have a business to run, in case you’ve forgotten.” “No, it’s just that Pierre and I have enjoyed you and the girls so much. We just wanted more time.” “Mom…we’ll see each other next month, unless you’ve forgotten. You’re in the wedding and Pierre and Uncle Eddie are giving me away.” “Who could forget, with that rock on your hand?” Ana smiled, happy that Mignon and Jason were getting married. “I can’t wait to see my brother and Zuri again. It’s funny, he and Pierre bonded immediately. Are Angel and Ronnie going to be able to make it?” “They’re not sure. Ginger has her first exhibit and they may be in New York. But they said they’ll see us all before the wedding because they’re leaving the baby with Odele and Geoff while they’re in New York.” “Whew, my sister will have her hands full trying to plan the wedding and care for a three-year-old!”

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“You’re right…but you know Aunt Odele. She loves chaos, and little Cameroon is just the ticket for chaos. I swear that child is a heat-seeking missile. I love him to death, but I have to mentally prepare myself for him being in the wedding…my ring bearer, you know?” “That’ll be easy, baby. The girls will watch him.” “You’re right. It’s just that I never thought I’d get married again, let alone have a formal wedding, so I get nervous every time I think about it.” “Don’t be.… By the way, have you heard from Gerald, since news of the engagement hit the press?” “Yes.… He tried to lay a guilt trip on me, saying I had only married him on the rebound from Jason.” “What did you tell him?” “I agreed with him, and apologized for misleading him. Then I thanked him for the gift of my daughters.” “Ouch! Like Cody always says, that had to hurt!” “You know, the thing about it is, everything he said was true. What’s even funnier is that I really didn’t mean it to hurt him—revenge didn’t motivate me. Gerald put a lot of effort over the years into causing me pain, and for a while he was successful. But you know one thing? God took me, shook me and restored me—just God and me.… Here I stand today because of Him.… My tests have become my Testimony. So you know what I say?” Mignon asked, turning to face her mother with a warm smile. Ana returned her smile with understanding and they said in unison, “But God!” Together they walked, hand in hand, mother and daughter.… Together they had faced life…birth… divorce…death…separation…and rebirth.… But God!

But GOD! But GOD! Did come And sent His only Son O Lord hear my Plea Won’t you come see about me? But holding on to a string by faith He told me I was safe Even though it was in the valley I STOOD Tried, tempted and tested, ’tis true But every day I knelt down and said But GOD! You saw me through But GOD! You always knew That I will love and abide in you… In my misery I reached out Through fear and doubt I cried out Reaching back With Mercy and Grace You sighed and smiled Casting my burdens aside You put me in the place Shook me and said enough is enough

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REBORN A Sepia title published by Kimani Press in 2007 First published by BET Publications, LLC in 2004 IS BN: 978-1-4268-0279-9 © 2004 by Nea Anna Simone All rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. For permission please contact Kimani Press, Editorial Office, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. ® and TM are trademarks. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and/or other countries. www.kimanipress.com