Love Me Tonight (6 page)

“Of course you're not sure if you haven't known her longer than that. Anyway, finding the right person is part luck. What does she do?”

He told her.

“That's a good fit for you. You willing to live wherever she goes?”

He liked that question. Aunt Cissy was a modern woman, her age notwithstanding. “If it gets to that point, we'll have to strike a deal. I haven't looked that far ahead.”

“Well, you better. It's those surprises up ahead that throw a monkey wrench into the sweetest relationships. You be careful.”

“Yes, ma'am. I generally stay alert to what's going on in my life.”

After lunch, they sat in the cool living room, and he shared with her his fondest memories of his mother.

“She raised a fine man. No matter what happens and what you find out, always remember that.”

“Yes, ma'am. I'd better move on, Aunt Cissy. I want to get to the Americana Hotel. Is it far?”

“Nothing's far here, son. Drive to the corner, turn left and drive till you see the hotel. It's about ten blocks.”

She walked to the door with him, and he gazed down at her with mixed feelings. There were so many things
he wanted to ask her that he knew she hadn't told him, and he wanted to stay longer. But the answer he sought could be ten blocks away. It was only a slim chance, but he wanted to know for certain.

“Thanks for that wonderful lunch and for receiving me so kindly. I won't forget it. If you need anything ever, you know how to reach me.”

“Thank you, son, and thanks for my lovely perfume.”

Fifteen minutes later, he walked into the Americana Hotel, presented his card to the receptionist and asked to speak with the manager. A short, formally dressed man appeared at once. “Is there a problem?” the manager asked him.

“No, there isn't a problem, sir,” he said and shook hands with the manager. “I'm Judson Philips, and I wonder if you can tell me who designed and built this lovely hotel.”

The manager beamed. “It is a fine one, isn't it? Just a minute. Have a seat.”

Judson wasn't in the habit of perspiring so profusely, but as he waited for the manager to return, the sweat soaked his shirt in spite of the comfortable air-conditioning. The manager returned after what seemed like hours, though only twelve minutes had elapsed.

“I'm delighted to tell you, Mr. Philips, that one of Maryland's most famous architects designed and built our hotel. His name was Fentriss Sparkman, and here is the original brochure that commemorates the dedication. I hope you will come back and stay with us very soon.”

Accepting the brochure with trembling fingers, Judson thanked the man, promised to return and headed for Baltimore. Something was missing, but he'd get to the bottom of it, no matter what. He had to go through his mother's personal belongings. He hadn't done it, because he hadn't expected to find anything among her intimate things. Now, he realized that the woman he had always believed was his adoptive mother may have kept things from his father, secrets she hadn't wanted him to know about, including the child she bore out of wedlock. And that child was most likely him.

 

He walked into his house ready to renew his search through his mother's things and stopped short as if a bomb had dropped. He'd forgotten to check Fentriss Sparkman's name with Aunt Cissy. He sat on the nearest dining room chair and telephoned her.

“Aunt Cissy, this is Judson.”

“Did you go to the hotel?”

“Yes, ma'am. That's why I'm calling you. The man's name is Fentriss Sparkman, and the hotel's manager gave me a brochure that proves it. Do you recognize that name?”

“I sure do. He's the only person I ever heard of with a first name like that one. I hope you learn something good from all this. You let me know what happens, you hear?”

“Yes, ma'am. You and I are linked from now on, Aunt Cissy.”

“You come to see me. I have a nice guest room, and you're welcome to use it whenever you want to.”

“Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate that.”

Fentriss Sparkman. His mother had never mentioned the man to him. “I hope I don't discover something I'd rather not know,” he said to himself and ran up the stairs to continue his search. Three hours later, tired and hungry, he looked at his watch and considered having some food delivered. He went to the phone, then suddenly remembered that he hadn't called Heather to give her his news or started getting ready for dinner at her place.

He dashed to the bathroom, taking off his clothes as he went, got a quick shower, shaved and dressed. He had less than an hour, and he had to drive past DeLong's Florist to get some calla lilies. He adjusted the gray-and-yellow paisley tie and checked his image in a flawless suit and light gray shirt. With no time to go to the liquor store, he chose two bottles of wine from his wine rack, locked his door and gave thanks that he'd remembered Heather had invited him to dinner at her home.

The florist had only yellow and white calla lilies, so he bought six of each and had them wrapped in clear cellophane paper tied with yellow and white ribbons. Fortunately, the building in which she lived had valet parking, and he didn't have to waste time looking for a parking space. At three minutes of seven, he rang her doorbell. She opened the door and surprised him with a quick kiss on the mouth.

“I could get used to a greeting like that. How are you?”

“I'm fine.” She seemed to study him. “And I think you've got something to tell me. Is it good?”

He smiled at that evidence that she made an effort to understand him. “Yeah.” He ran his right hand over his hair. “A lot has happened.” He handed her the flowers.

“Judson, these are beautiful.” She hugged the flowers. “You're spoiling me, and I like it. I really do.” She stepped closer to him, put her free arm around his shoulder, parted her lips and took him into her mouth.

He stopped kissing her and grinned. “Honey, you have to be careful about lighting these fires.”

“I'm not even going to pretend to know what you're talking about. That was a sweet little kiss.”

“Yeah. If you say so. This wine isn't cold.”

She took it from him. “I'll chill it. Have a seat someplace.”

 

Heather arranged the flowers in a crystal vase and put it on the table between two silver candlesticks, gifts to herself when she moved into the apartment. She lit the twelve-inch beeswax candles, stepped back and admired the beautiful place settings.

With that setup, the food had better be good. She took the hors d'oeuvres out of the oven, placed cheese puffs, tiny quiches and grilled mini-franks on a serving dish and walked back to the living room where Judson sat on the sofa looking ill at ease. She put the platter on the coffee table. “You don't seem comfortable. What's the matter?”

“I'm comfortable,” he said brightly. “Too comfortable. Suppose you got an assignment to say, Luxembourg, and you were engaged to get married. What would you
do?” Her lower lip dropped. He held up his hand to ward off a less than thoughtful answer. “And suppose your husband-to-be couldn't get a job in his field in Luxembourg? What would you do?”

What a question! Heather thought. She controlled her hands before they locked to her hip bones, because she didn't want to give the impression that his questions had surprised her.

“You have a right to know what you'd be in for if we get engaged. I'm way ahead of you, and I don't think that scenario could sustain a marriage or even a live-in relationship. According to my dad, a man's work, his woman and his children—in that order—define him, and he's only happy if he finds pleasure and contentment in all three. Cheer up, and eat your hors d'oeuvres before they get cold. What would you like to drink?”

It pleased her that he smiled. “You didn't answer my question,” he said. “But I'm also a lawyer, so I got enough out of that long reply to corner you if I ever have to. I'm driving, so I'd better stick to wine. Most any kind would be nice.”

She didn't rush him but allowed him to take his time with telling his “good news,” because she sensed in him a new kind of peacefulness. “Let's eat now,” she said after he finished a glass of wine and several of the hors d'oeuvres. “I hope you like what I prepared.”

He tasted the cold, sour cherry soup. “This is delicious. I have a feeling I'm going to be sorry I ate so many hors d'oeuvres with the wine.”

The meal continued with filet mignon, sautéed cremini mushrooms, asparagus and dauphin potatoes,
a green salad and assorted cheeses, and ended with raspberry sauce over vanilla ice cream.

“I didn't have time to make a complicated dessert today,” she told him.

“Please, don't apologize, Heather. I love ice cream, and raspberries are one of my favorite fruits. This combination is delightful.”

After sipping his second cup of espresso, he said, “You told me you were a fair cook. That was an understatement. This was a wonderful meal. Let's clean the kitchen. Then we can talk.”

After they cleaned the kitchen, he took her hand and walked with her to the living room. “Heather, I have an awful suspicion. After today, I not only have to find out who my birth father is, but I have to find proof that my adoptive mother is really my birth mother.”

“What? Are you serious? What do you mean?”

“The woman with whom I spent this morning in Hagerstown was Mom's aunt. Cissy is her father's youngest sister. She stated Mom had a baby boy when she was twenty-two or twenty-three years old, left the child with her mother and then moved away from Hagerstown. When the boy was three, she had married and came back for the child. Her aunt didn't know her exact age when the child was born, but I believe she guessed right. I'm thirty-four and when Mom died, she was fifty-seven. You can add as well as I can.

“Aunt Cissy—Cissy Henry is the woman's name—gave me enough information to identify the father of that child. He was an architect, and I have a brochure printed
two weeks before I was born that's proof he designed and built a hotel that still stands in Hagerstown.”

“Which one? Not the Americana?”

He lurched forward. “That's the one.”

“We can ask my father if he knew him.”

“I have his name. Now I have to find out what the relationship was between him and my mom. Aunt Cissy says they were lovers. My question is, am I the product of that union?”

“Too bad you don't have your birth certificate.”

“No, but I'll get it.”

“Mind if I ask… You seem, well, not merely pleased, but in some kind of peaceful mood. That's unusual for you, at least the times I've been with you. When you came in here tonight, I actually thought you had found the answer. Explain this to me.”

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his thighs. “This dilemma has troubled me since I was seven years old, and the older I got the more it haunted me. Today, for the first time, I took steps to get the answer. It isn't in my nature to do nothing about a situation. When I have a problem, I get to work on it.”

“What's your next move?”

“When I get home tonight, I'll continue my search, but I'll be looking in unlikely places. Mom had something to hide, and I suspect that Dad didn't know her secret. Where would you hide things from someone who had the run of the house, including your bedroom?” He took a small pad from his inside coat pocket.

“Probably with my lingerie, jewelry, toiletries, the most personal things. If she had shoe bags, search
them, even her shoes. Check the house for books with hidden storage. Look in the jackets of records and under mattresses.”

He glanced toward the ceiling. “I'd decided to check the lingerie drawers, but I hadn't considered those other places. Thanks, and keep thinking. If I don't find what I want in any of those places, I'll ask you again for suggestions. I'd better go, because I know I won't go to sleep until I've searched every one of those places.”

“Tomorrow is another day, Judson. If I'd known this could keep you up all night, I wouldn't have mentioned them.”

He stood to leave. “Do you mind if I leave now?”

It was only ten o'clock. “Please don't ask me questions like that if you want a truthful answer.”

He stared at her as if she'd surprised him. “You don't want me to leave?”

That was a loaded question, and they both knew it. She shot from the hip. “Of course not. It's early. That doesn't mean I want you to spend the night, but I am enjoying your company. I know you want to find the answer to this…this mystery as soon as you can. So it's okay,” she said with a laugh.

Throughout her answer, she'd had his rapt attention. “Kiss me good-night, and let me get out of here.”

As she walked toward him, she knew he was trying to read the expression on her face. With her hands on his shoulders, she asked him, “What degree of heat do you want?”

His gaze didn't betray his feelings. But she got his message when he said, “Play with me, will you? I'll
give you heat.” His arms tightened around her, and his fingers dented the curve of her breasts. He enveloped her, and with one hand on her buttocks and the other at the back of her head, he shoved his tongue into her mouth. Though she fought for it, he dipped in and out telling her what he wanted to do to her. Then he lifted her until they were chest to breast and belly to belly. She couldn't get enough of him. Heat plowed through her, and she could feel drops of moisture in the valley between her aching breasts. He let the wall take his weight and, still holding her buttocks, he stroked her left breast with the other hand until she began to undulate against him. His tongue darted around in her mouth, and his hand stroked her breast. Warm moisture dampened her, and she moaned in frustration and pressed his hand against her breast. He put his hand inside the bodice of her dress, released her breast and bent to it.