Love Me Tonight (5 page)

“Probably, but I have the right to refuse any post.”

“Would you really refuse? I'm not sure that would be a good career move, Heather.”

She stopped eating and stared at him. “Are you trying to get rid of me? If you are, I can always make it easy for you.”

“I'm trying not to be selfish. And on the chance that you appreciate my judgment, I'm being as truthful as I can be.”

An expression of pain spread across her face, and she briefly closed her eyes. “Oh, Judson, I'm so sorry. I do trust you, and I trust your judgment. I'm so used to—”

“It's all right. I imagine that in the world you work in, you always have to watch your back.”

“Yes, indeed. And look what it's doing to me,” she said as if she'd just realized it.

“How about dessert?” he said. “I think I'll have a
slice of sour lime pie,” he added, glad to be able to change the subject. “What would you like?”

“I can't sit here and watch you eat it, so I'll have the same.” Suddenly, she reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. “If you can be patient, we'll get there.” The waiter took their orders, and refreshed their water, smiled at Heather, then left the table.

“Do you mean that?” he asked her once the waiter had gone.

“I didn't plan to say it, but it's the truth.” She smiled. “I'll always tell you the truth, Judson, even if it makes me look bad, and I hope I can count on the same from you.”

He enveloped her hand with his own. “Of course you can. If you never believe anything else, believe that.”

The waiter brought their dessert, and they savored it without speaking. Later, while they sat sipping espresso, she looked at him and said, “I have to thank Scott for introducing me to you. He's anxious to find out whether we get along and whether we will see each other.”

He imagined that the facial expression he thought was a grin was more feral than friendly. “Don't tell him a thing,” he said. “Let him worry.”

“How could you? He means well.”

“Sure he does. Jails are full of well-meaning people. It isn't often that I'm one up on Scott, so please humor me.”

He held her hand while they walked to his car, and it felt good.

Ten minutes later, he parked in front of her building,
walked around and helped her in getting out of the car and accompanied her to her apartment. She gave him her door key without his asking. He opened the door.

“May I come in for a few minutes?”

She didn't answer, but walked in and flicked on the light.

He didn't want to sit down and talk. They had talked during dinner. He wanted her in his arms. When he remained near the door, she turned, walked back to him and smiled.

“What's the matter? Do you want a hug or a kiss? Which is it?”

He'd never met a woman so lacking in guile. “Both,” he said and opened his arms. She went to him with arms raised and lips slightly parted. And the feel of her warm and womanly body as she held him to her almost made him dizzy. He bent his head, brushed her lips with his own and she pulled his tongue into her mouth. He couldn't stifle the groan that erupted from deep inside of him, and with the rush of blood to his groin preparing him for a massive erection, he tried to step back from her. But she seemed oblivious to his movement. He lifted her and set her away from him. She stared at him, wide-eyed.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he said, “but I don't want to push you too far, too fast.”

She frowned, and then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. “I've never met a man like you. I
am
going to thank Scott for introducing us.”

“Are the two of you close friends?”

Her eyes twinkled. “We haven't drunk each other's blood, but we've pledged to be brother and sister.”

“How is it that you were never attracted to each other?”

“My dad asked me the same question. Scott and I would kill each other. Actually, we nearly did when we first began working together. We backed off because we had to cooperate, and after a short while we realized that we're both too similar. So we began supporting each other, and it's been great for both of us. What time will you leave for Hagerstown tomorrow? If you need to contact a newspaper, try the
Herald-Mail
first.”

“Thanks. I will.'

“Don't get your hopes up too high, Judson, and don't be disappointed if you come back empty-handed. This is just the first try. Remember you have my support.”

“And that means everything to me. I know it's going to be a long, hard trek, but I'm prepared for it.”

J
udson parked beside the Washington County Free Library at a quarter of eleven, went inside and asked the reference librarian for the microfilm room.

“If you can't find what you're looking for,” she said, “maybe I can help you.”

“Thank you. Where's the reading room?”

She told him and added, “I'll be glad to help if you think I can.”

He thanked her again and went to the microfilm room. He found the newspaper with the birth announcement that listed the family name Motens. He went to the library's computer and began copying the names, addresses and telephone numbers for the name Moten. By the time he finished, his stomach was growling. He
didn't feel inclined to seek out the helpful librarian. He pocketed his notes and left.

Sitting in the far corner of a restaurant eating a hamburger, French fries and coleslaw, he read over the names he'd recorded. None of the names were listed in his parents' papers, and he couldn't interview or even hope to locate all of them. He finished his lunch, and decided to put a classified ad in the newspaper. He found the office of the
Herald-Mail
, placed the order and headed back to Baltimore.

When he got home shortly before six o'clock that evening, he found his answering machine blinking. “I'll deal with that later,” he said to himself. He had to work out a plan in case no one answered his ad. Adoption papers were sealed, but there was always a way.

Suddenly, he bolted upright. The adoption papers were not among those he had found in his mother's closet. She had stashed them somewhere else, but where? Did she have a secret hiding place?
Calm down, man. As Heather said, “you've just started.”

He went to the refrigerator for a can of beer and took it outside on his terrace. Where could he search next if no one answered his ad? He had a sudden inspiration.
The churches!
Most churches kept baptismal records. He let out a deep sigh of relief, rested his feet on the edge of the ceramic flowerpot beside him and closed his eyes as a sense of peace washed over him.

He answered his cell phone. “Philips. What may I do for you?”

“This is Curtis. Is that laboratory's attorney allowed to get in touch with me directly?”

“What? That's a no-no. Did you happen to record it?”

“You bet I did. He wanted to know what I was prepared to settle for. I told him I'd let him know, because I wanted him to continue talking. I'll make a copy of the tape and send it to you tomorrow by messenger.”

So they wanted to be sneaky. That only strengthened his hand. He wondered how dirty they'd get.

 

Two days later while Judson sat on the grass in the sculpture garden of the National Gallery, soaking up the sunshine and eating his lunch, his cell phone rang. He didn't recognize the name on the ID screen, so he used his formal response.

“This is Judson Philips. How may I help you?”

“Mr. Philips, my name is Cissy Henry, and I'm from Hagerstown. I think I may have some information for you.”

He nearly choked on his food. “Are you referring to my ad in the
Herald-Mail?
”

“Yes, sir. My daughter-in-law told me you were asking if anybody knew Beverly Moten. Well, I used to know her, but she left here well nigh thirty years ago. Her father was my brother.”

He'd forgotten his lunch and was standing. “Do you mind if I come to see you and talk with you?”

“No. I don't mind a bit. Nobody's interested in what we old people have to say. Where are you, and when do you want us to talk?”

“I live in Baltimore, and I can be at your place
tomorrow morning at about eleven. What's your address?”

She gave it to him. “I know you young folks are busy, so you come anytime you want to. I'll be right here. I can fix us a real nice lunch, and we can talk. Judson Philips, you say your name is? You come on. I'll be here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Henry. I'll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Well now, seems to me you ought to call me Aunt Cissy. Everybody else does.”

His face broke into a smile. “Thank you, Aunt Cissy. I'm looking forward to meeting you. See you tomorrow.”

Maybe he would finally know. He told himself that because the woman knew the Motens was not reason to think she knew the circumstances of his adoption. But he couldn't help hoping. He'd needed to know so badly and for so long.

 

Heather read the letter a third time. As she stared at the bold signature of the Secretary of State, she knew that her next move could determine her foreign service career. She was not going to Albania. In that post, a diplomat was no more than a special envoy, and everybody knew that. She needed to talk with someone about it, and she reasoned that it wouldn't be fair to discuss it with Scott.

She heard a knock on her door. “Come in.”

“How's it going?” Scott asked her. “I thought we had a lunch date. What happened?”

What else had she forgotten while she digested the letter? She picked up the letter and handed it to him. “This was not what I expected, Scott.”

He glanced over it. “You're turning it down, of course.”

“That's what I had in mind. My problem is how to do it. I don't want to shoot myself in the foot.”

“You know, Pete is separating from his wife. He said a minute ago that he wants an overseas assignment, any assignment anywhere. He wants a change.”

“Goodness! Is he still in love with her?”

“Quite the contrary. They've been miserable for some time. Tell you what—if you want me to, I can drop a hint that he wants out of here, and you don't want to leave. That job is not a promotion for you, and you could be stuck there for maybe four years, but at least two.”

“You can drop that hint, and I'm going to tell the Secretary that although I'm due a promotion, this doesn't seem to me to be the one. I've received perfect scores on all of my evaluations, so I'll assume that by exercising my right of refusal, I haven't adversely affected my career.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said, “but be very careful of your choice of words. What did Judson say about this?”

“I haven't had a chance to tell him.”

“Let's go eat. I'm starving.”

“Scott, do you mind if we cancel today? I don't much feel like eating. I need to go someplace and blow off steam.”

“Heather, this is your first disappointment here. Let
me tell you that you'll have to learn to take the lumps and still walk as if you just won a presidential election. By tomorrow, everybody will have heard about this. Half of the staff will think you got what you deserved. The other half will know you didn't. But not one will ever say anything to that effect. Some people are ignorant, some are cowards, and the others just don't give a damn.” Scott turned to the door. “See you later.”

“I'd better do this before I lose my nerve.” She wrote the letter, read it once, printed it out, signed it and called for a messenger.
It's what I believe is right, and I'm going with it. I'll take the consequences.

She'd just begun to outline a plan designed to introduce self-help programs to women in sub-Saharan Africa when her cell phone rang.

“Hello, sweetheart.” His deep velvet voice had the ability to comfort her. Somehow, hearing it made everything right. “I have the most wonderful news.”

“You found something?”

“No, but I found someone.” She listened to his tale about Cissy Henry. “That's wonderful. Judson, I'm so happy for you. The pieces will all come together. I know they will. When are you going there?”

“Tomorrow morning. If I thought you'd be free, I'd invite you to come with me.”

“That probably wouldn't be a good idea. She'll speak less freely if another person is present. I have some news, too. I've been offered a post in Albania, and I just signed a letter turning it down. Well, not in precisely those words.”

“Congratulations. And since you don't want the
post, congratulations for having the courage to turn it down. I'll be anxious to see you when I get back from Hagerstown tomorrow, so can we have dinner together?”

“Yes. Do you think you can come to dinner at my place? I'm a fair cook.”

“I'd love that. What should I bring? Do you have wine?”

“Yes, but bring whatever you like to drink. Seven o'clock.”

“All right. I'm…I'm anxious to see you. I'll have to work tonight. Otherwise, I'd suggest that we get together this evening.”

“Call me and tell me good-night.”

“I'll do that. Bye for now.”

“Bye.”

 

Cissy Henry stood at her front door when Judson parked in front of her house, a white, green-shuttered bungalow with a well-manicured lawn. A profusion of seasonal flowers marked the property lines.

He strode up the walk to the steps and stopped. “Come on up,” she said. “You must be Judson Philips 'cause don't nobody around here dress up this good on a Saturday. How'd you do?”

He shook hands with her. “I'm fine, ma'am. How are you? I can't tell you how much I appreciate your agreeing to see me.” It surprised him that she seemed so youthful and fit. He indicated as much.

“I'm eighty-four. All my life I ate right, never smoked or drank. Went to bed early, got up early and said my
prayers every morning and every night. Why shouldn't I look well?” And certainly she had her mental faculties in order, too, he observed.

“Let's sit out on the back porch where it's nice and cool. I don't turn on the air conditioning till around three o'clock. Money don't grow on trees.”

He sat beside her on the swing in the screened-in porch, and gazed at the irises, peonies, roses, daises and other flowers that beautified and perfumed the garden. “This place is enchanting,” he said.

“I'm happy here, Judson. Now, tell me what I can do for you.”

“My adoptive mother passed on about a month ago. It's been a terrible blow to me, especially since my dad died a couple of years ago.”

Cissy's eyebrows eased up. “Who was your dad?”

“Louis Philips. He was a wonderful father, and I still miss him.”

“I imagine you do. What do you need to know?”

“As I told you, I'm adopted. I'd like to know who my birth parents were. I never asked my parents, because I didn't want them to think I was unhappy. I wasn't. They gave me far more than my share. However, I need to know who I am.”

“You look like a prosperous man, and the way you talk tells me you're educated. What kind of work do you do?”

“I'm a lawyer, and I have a degree in law from Harvard.”

“Good, then I know you'll know how to handle what I'm going to tell you. I don't know how it applies to you,
but this is what I know about Beverly Moten. She had a baby out of wedlock when she was, oh, I don't know, twenty-two or twenty-three. She was going around with this man, but she never married him. After she had the baby, she left the boy here with her mother and moved to Baltimore.”

“It was a boy?” She nodded. He started adding. Twenty-two or twenty-three. He was thirty-four, and his adoptive mother was fifty-seven when she died. Was that the other child? He shrugged.

“That's not the end of it,” she went on. “When the child was about three, I guess, she married and she came back and got the child from her mama. After that, she never returned here.”

His adrenaline shot up, and he could barely manage to remain seated. “Who was the man who fathered that child?”

“Well, you know, that's not something anybody can swear to, but I remember she was in love with the man, an architect, who designed and built the Americana Hotel. They can tell you his name. It wasn't a common name. My daughter-in-law might remember it. I'll recognize it if I hear it. A lot of our young girls were after him, because he was one good-looking man, tall and… If I'd a been single, I'd a gone after him, too.” She laughed. “A bit older than Beverly, but that didn't seem to bother her.”

He wanted to know about the man's character, in case he was on the right track. “Did he date all those girls?”

“Not to my knowledge. It looked like he was as crazy
about Beverly as she was about him. Nobody ever could say why they didn't get married. Come on in here while I get our lunch together. I hope you like home-cooked food.”

“I certainly do, and I haven't had any since my mom got sick.” He took a bottle of perfume out of his coat pocket and gave it to her. “I didn't know what to bring you, but I figured every woman likes this.”

Her eyes rounded to twice their size. “This woman certainly does. This is quite a gift. Thank you so much. I don't know when I last had any perfume.” She handed him the bottle. “Would you please open it? I'll just put on a little dab of it. I always used to put it on my handkerchief, but nowadays it's so dear.” She put some on her index finger, sniffed and a wide smile covered her face. “This is just the kind of scent I love.”

She put the food on the kitchen table, turned on the air conditioner and handed him a face towel. “You can wash up right around there.”

Cissy said grace holding his hand and then passed him a platter that contained barbecued baby back ribs, broiled lamb chops and grilled pork loin. “Help yourself. There's plenty more.”

His gaze took in a pan of baked corn bread, string beans, rice, sliced tomatoes and pickled beets. “I know I'm a big guy, Aunt Cissy, but this is enough food right here for six people.”

“Oh, go on. Who cooks for you?”

“I'm thinking about getting a cook, but right now, I do. I also eat out a lot.”

“And you take home a lot of pizzas and beer. Right?”

“Bad, huh?”

“Yes, sirree. Do you have a nice girl?”

“I met someone recently, and I think she may be the one. I'm not sure.”