Family Affairs, page 16
For a second they just stood there, each waiting for the other to do something. David finally held out his free hand. Gayla hesitated only briefly before accepting the offer. Not of help or comfort or reassurance, but as a connection back to the familiar. The strength of his hand grounded her, bringing her back from the sense of being too light, and floating on air. His hand was warm, and she held it tightly.
They didn’t acknowledge their separate reactions.
They found a cab waiting outside the hospital. Not much was said of any consequence during the short ride to the hotel, and their conversation picked up as if there had never been a need to stop at an emergency facility. But even the air was different around them, filled with knowledge of the experience they had just shared.
The small, elegant hotel was not a known tourist accommodation, but the kind of hotel frequented by business travelers. Courtesy of the hosting publication, they had dining privileges in the hotel restaurant, but they didn’t really feel like eating. After they checked in, David escorted Gayla to her room to make sure she got safely inside. Still no mention was made of the hospital side trip or what had made it necessary. Gayla steadfastly refused to meet David’s gaze, as if nothing unusual had happened…or as if hoping it would just go away. David then went to his own room, two floors up.
He had very little to unpack, and when he was finished he felt too restless to either watch TV or go to bed. He was thinking about Gayla, and what was wrong with her. Even that summer she was fourteen and spent a week in the Randolph Medical Center, he’d never found out the name for what had happened to her. He didn’t know now.
After a while David left his room and headed back to Gayla’s. It was almost midnight. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to her once he got there. He couldn’t even anticipate how she was going to respond. He was acting on instinct, taking a chance.
David hesitated for a moment outside her door. He could hear nothing from inside. He started to turn away; what if she was already asleep? But what if she wasn’t? Finally, he knocked for admission. The voice came back muffled and weak.
“Yes?”
“It’s David.”
There was a long moment before the door was unlocked and quietly opened a crack. She was dressed in a long knit nightgown. Gayla didn’t look at him directly, nor did she say anything. She left the door open and turned back into the room. David entered and by the time he closed the door Gayla had climbed back into bed with the covers pulled up around her shoulders. He stood looking down at her without feeling the least bit uncomfortable about being alone with her in a hotel room. Obviously she didn’t feel it either, or she wouldn’t have let him in.
“I’m okay,” she said, reading his thoughts.
He pursed his mouth. “Can I use your phone?”
Gayla frowned. “Go ahead.”
He called room service. “This is room four-eighteen. Can you please send up a pot of hot…” He glanced at her in question.
“Tea.”
“Make that one tea and one coffee. Thanks.” He hung up and casually sat down in the chair diagonally across from the bed.
“I don’t feel like…”
“The nurse said to take you home and get you warm. Why?”
“Why?”
David nodded. “Is there some reason why you can’t tell me what happened? That cab driver was pretty happy you didn’t have a baby in his backseat. Are you pregnant?”
A surprised laugh was forced out of Gayla, but she quickly sobered. “No, I’m not.” She closed her eyes. “I…don’t talk about it.”
“You want me to ask Sylvia? What do you think she’ll say when I tell her we spent half an evening in the emergency room of a D.C. hospital?”
“This is none of your business,” Gayla informed him softly but firmly. David merely sat back in his chair and waited. “I’m not going to talk about it with you.”
“I’m not doing the program tomorrow,” he quickly countered.
She snorted. “You think you can blackmail me?”
“I’m calling your bluff. Or if you prefer…you show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“I’m not going to play this game…”
“I just spent half an evening in a D.C. hospital and I want to know why. You know I can find out. But I want you to tell me.”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Is it a secret? Maybe I could have helped you sooner. Maybe what happened could have been prevented. You expect me to trust everything you do or tell me without a lot of questions. But you’re not willing to give as much in return. Is that how it works with Bill Coleman?” David asked bluntly. “You’re in charge?”
She closed her eyes but otherwise didn’t move. “That’s none of your business, either. You’re in no position to harass me about this.”
“What have I got to lose?”
Gayla shifted positions under the covers until she was flat on her back and staring at the ceiling. Finally she sighed.
“It’s not such a big deal. It doesn’t happen a lot. That’s why I don’t say anything. Especially not to my family. I think the last time I had an attack was about five years ago. Something like that. I was supposed to take Allison to her first ballet performance. I couldn’t disappoint her.”
“Did Sylvia take her?”
Gayla shook her head at David. “No. Mitchell filled in. I think I told him the only reason he was willing was because of the chance to see some good-looking guys in tights.” David looked askance. “Mitchell has more of a sense of humor than you think.”
He shrugged. “I’ve never been given a chance to see that. What’s SS hemoglobin?” he asked.
“It’s a level of blood cell count that indicates one of three kinds of…of sickle cell anemia.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Black folks are prone to getting it. My parents were carriers but never had it outright. I have it. Mitchell doesn’t.”
“Allison?”
“She has the trait.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes, but I don’t think she likes to think about it. I don’t want her to. She’s not going to ever get sick because of sickle cell. And I don’t want her to feel…” Gayla stopped.
“She could lose you?” She nodded. David sat forward in the chair, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Could she?”
“It’s…very unlikely. I’m considered to be at tolerable risk level. So now you know my deep, dark secret. Are you satisfied?”
He pursed his mouth. “No.” He saw surprise register on her face. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You can still do just about anything you want to. Already you’re ahead of the game.”
“You have a lot of nerve. Where do you get off thinking you can tell me how to act or feel?”
David stood up and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. He thoughtfully considered Gayla from across the room. “You have a family who’s there for you. You have a beautiful daughter. From where I stand, you’re not doing so badly. You could be sicker. You could be alone. That’s not nerve you hear…it’s envy.
“There’s not a day goes by that I don’t wish I had done things differently when I was seventeen years old. I also wish my mother was alive. But the good news is I’m free, black and lived to be more than twenty-one. The way I look at it, I have a lot to be grateful for. So do you.”
“I didn’t know they teach Philosophy 101 in prison,” she said. Gayla could tell by the telltale flexing in his jaw that she’d hit home.
“Prison taught me a lot more than that. There’s no substitute for freedom, self-respect or family. I have two out of three. I’m working on what I’m missing.”
Gayla was surprised and moved by David’s honesty. But she remained silent.
There was a polite knock on her door with the announcement of room service. David slowly walked to answer.
“So, you have sickle cell. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You don’t have it because you’re being punished. I would have respected your secret if you’d trusted me. You have a long way to go, too.” David opened the room door.
“You ordered tea and coffee?” the delivery man asked.
David turned back to look fleetingly at Gayla as he indicated that the tray should be placed on the desk. “For the lady,” David responded as he stepped out of Gayla’s room, closing the door as he left.
Then he stood outside her room debating if he should go back in. He couldn’t see the point. David headed for the elevator, but instead of returning to his room, he took it down to the lobby and headed for the hotel bar. There were about a half-dozen men, mostly in conversation or watching the TV which was on Conan O’Brien.
David ordered a beer, although he didn’t really want one. He would have preferred a cup of coffee. He would have appreciated Gayla’s company. He wanted her respect even more, but they were still sometimes engaged in attack and retreat. It was dispiriting. He drank only half the beer and returned to his room.
He could hear the phone ringing as he put the passkey in the door. He caught it on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Where were you?”
“Why do you want to…Gayla, is it another attack?”
She didn’t respond right away. When she did her voice was quiet. “I’m fine, David. I…I just wanted to let you know…you forgot your coffee.”
“I didn’t forget it. I left it because…” David started to explain and then stopped, considering. “Should I come and get it?”
“It’s still hot. I don’t want it to go to waste.”
David thought about it. “You know it’s way after midnight.”
“I know, but I’m wide awake…and free of pain. Let’s play hooky.”
He grinned. “I’m on my way.”
“Aaaaaaggghh…aaaaawwwwwohmyGod…. shit…oooh, shit…” Kel moaned as he surged forward and tried to bury himself deeper into the womb of the woman who lay beneath him. She had her hands splayed over his taut, pumping buttocks, pulling him into her, aiding the release. She expertly raised her pelvis, rotating against him, eliciting another long groan as the last of his physical explosion ebbed away.
“Mmmmmmmm, yeah,” she mewled as if in ecstasy, and then softly hissed through her teeth while Kel tried to grind the last of his pleasure into her. “Mmmmmmmm, baby…that was so good.”
He collapsed against her, his heavy body crushing her into the mattress. “Damn!” he got out weakly.
She began to gently rub the top of his shoulders, sliding her hand across his neck. Her manicured fingernails teased the skin behind his ears which, immediately after Kel’s climax, was now highly sensitive.
Kel grunted and rolled over to lie next to her. He seemed on the verge of sleep until he suddenly sat—up on the side of the bed. She twisted toward him and continued to stroke his back.
“You sure know how to use your thing,” she drawled. She planted a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades. She slowly maneuvered a hand around his waist, seeking the now limp, damp organ and working it like it was a joystick.
“Okay…that’s enough,” Kel said dismissively, his voice back to normal. He slapped the woman playfully on her thigh.
“Aaaaoow!” She exaggerated the impact. “Hey…I’m not into that spanking stuff.”
He picked up the cellular phone from the floor next to the bed and used his thumb to begin punching in a number. “Get me something to drink, will you?” he ordered the woman.
She lazily sat up, but took inventory first before following his instructions. Smoothing her hair. Using a hand towel to wipe the milky residue from her inner thighs. Checking her nails for cracks or chips. And then sliding off the bed and heading barefoot and bare-ass to the kitchen.
She turned to Kel at the doorway. “I have to use the bathroom.”
“So, use the bathroom,” he said indifferently, listening to the ringing on the other end of the cellular.
“But the cat’s in there.”
“Open the fucking door and let it out,” Kel instructed impatiently. She sighed and turned away. “Get me my drink first…Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?” he said into the small hand unit. “I know I’m late. I had something important to take care of and it couldn’t wait.” Her chortle could be heard from the other room. “We on or what?…Did you check out where that door goes? Good…Okay, but what about Boo Boo? You sure he knows what he’s doing?…I don’t give a flying fuck whose brother he is, man. I don’t want to end up holding my dick in my hand, you got that?…Naw, forget Dak. He’s out. The brother’s not down with that no more. But I’m tellin’ you, he’s cool…”
Kel didn’t bother looking up when the cute young thing returned to the bedroom. She stepped over the clothing on the floor and leaned forward to place the can of beer on the top of the TV in front of Kel.
“We got lots of time. I checked it out. It’s gonna be a snap.”
He reached out to roughly stroke the young woman’s rear, trying to get his hand in the tight space between her legs. She resisted, trying to twist away. Kel caught her wrist and jerked her around. The short battle excited them both, igniting the fuse which hadn’t burned out yet.
“You just make sure you got my back,” Kel said into the phone as she teased him with the calculated movements of her naked body. She freed her hand and, well aware that Kel’s eye was on her and his interest was rising again, sashayed out of the room with a provocative wiggle of her high, rounded butt.
“Huh, huh…” Kel uttered in appreciation. “Yeah, I’m listening…okay…I’ll be there.”
He popped the tab on the beer can and swallowed nearly the entire contents by the time the woman had returned from the bathroom. She climbed on the bed, kneeling and sitting back on her heels. The position thrust her ample breasts forward.
“What did you say the man who lives here does?”
Kel reached for her as he sat back on the bed, leaning against the wall. “He’s an artist.”
“Oh, yeah? He one of them guys that likes to draw naked women? You know that’s just a line so he can get some…”
Kel began rubbing her arms, cupping her breasts and squeezing them together. He boldly spread his legs with his member at full attention. He urged her closer and she crawled toward him. “The brother’s not like that. I think he’s the real deal ’cause people buy his shit. Mmmmm, baby…come on over here, I have to make this quick. I have work to do…”
She sucked her teeth at the need for urgency, while she positioned herself between his legs. He held the sides of her head, directing her.
“You said you was going to take me to eat…” she whined.
“Yeah, baby. I will…” He moaned as she took hold of him and her mouth closed over the bulbous head of his penis. Her tongue flicked lightly across the sensitive opening at the top. “This is like…the appetizer.”
She understood exactly what to do to slake his hunger.
Chapter Nine
GAYLA STOOD IN CONVERSATION with the public affairs coordinator of Black Dialogue. She nodded on cue, making a herculean effort to stay focused on the nonstop conversation of the gregarious young woman. Every now and then Gayla sipped from her tea or flipped through her program notes. She maintained contact with the senior staffer, charmed in spite of herself but exhausted by so much energy at seven-thirty in the morning. She mostly listened, employing “Oh, really” or “I know what you mean” whenever a response was called for. And Gayla knew that later she wouldn’t remember a thing.
She smiled and chuckled often, letting the sound carry across the green room as a signal that she was fine, and nothing was amiss this morning. She was aware each time David cast a brief glance in her direction before returning to his own conversation with a co-participant.
“I couldn’t believe this man. We all thought he was going to be cool and say all these funny things, and then he didn’t say more than five words during the entire broadcast. Someone called in a question and all he said was, ‘I can’t answer that.’ We nearly died. It was so embarrassing. We scrambled to fill in.”
“I know what you mean,” Gayla murmured sympathetically.
In her peripheral vision she made note of the other guest on the show. An attractive light-skinned woman with ’locked hair and an elegant manner. She was dressed with contemporary simplicity in a long skirt and an oversized, brightly printed top that was Afrocentric in style and colors. She was, in fact, a fabric and clothing designer replacing the photographer originally scheduled. The designer’s work incorporated not only the influence of African culture, but also elements of Chinese and Indian fashion. She was regal but friendly…and she had David’s undivided attention.
“Okay, we’re ready to head out to the studio and get all of you seated on the stage and hooked up to microphones. Come this way, please…”
Gayla stood back to let the three program guests follow the producer from the room. David walked by, still in conversation with the designer, and Gayla found herself taking up the rear. They were led down a series of nondescript corridors to a door marked STUDIO 4. It was a huge open warehouse-like space with one side set up to be a cozy sitting room complete with plants, comfortable chairs and a coffee table. Opposite was a theater arrangement of chairs occupied by an audience of about fifty.
The program moderator was a popular D.C. news anchor who was telegenic and articulate. He introduced himself to all the guests and took his place on the stage. Gayla watched the final preparation as David was seated and he was instructed by one of the stage sound technicians how to thread the mike wire so it would be as unobtrusive as possible. He appeared at ease, casually attired in dark brown slacks and a rust-colored long-sleeved polo shirt under a camel-hair sports jacket. His neatly groomed close cut beard emphasized the lean and sculpted line of his cheek and jaw. From a distance, he seemed to have the poise and presence of someone famous. The interested attention of the designer notwithstanding, Gayla suddenly saw David as someone who appeared worldly, professional, urbane. It occurred to her as she continued watching that her mother’s faith in David Alan Kinney had been justified after all. Unlike Graham who had disappointed so many people in so many ways. The comparison was confusing.
