Fools Rush In. Gwynne Forster

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      He wished Mattie would resist yelling at him when three rooms separated them. “A little, but I’ll wait for Justine.”

      “Well, I gotta get home. Moe complains when I’m out late.”

      He looked at his watch. Seven o’clock. “Call me when Justine comes down.” He headed for the basement. What he needed was a good workout. He discarded his jacket and shoes, did twenty push-ups, and threw a couple of dozen darts, each of which landed farther from the bull’s eye than the one that preceded it.

      “Mr. B, come on up. I got to get my dinner on.”

      He put on his shoes and jacket, washed his face and hands, ran up the stairs, and stopped short. Justine floated from the second floor, almost unrecognizable in a red silk jumpsuit, oversized gold hoops at her ears, and her makeup-free face framed with jet black hair that swung well below her shoulders.

      When he could close his mouth, he asked her, “Going out tonight?”

      Her raised eyebrow reminded him of the silent reprimands he used to get from his elementary school teachers. “I freshen up for dinner, even when I’m eating at home alone.”

      Oh, no. He might have eaten dinner by the light of a kerosene oil lamp a few times as a small child, but she was still the nanny, for Pete’s sake, and she wasn’t pulling status on him. “And get all done up like that? Well, it doesn’t hurt my eyes one bit. Come on, let’s eat.”

      Duncan reached for the cornbread, but Mattie sang out, “Dear Lord, we thank…” and he let his expelled breath tell her what he thought of her reprimand. From the corner of his eye, he could see the satisfied smile that claimed Justine’s face as she enjoyed Mattie’s audacious behavior. In his younger days, the devil would have gotten into him, and he’d have given himself the pleasure of seeing her eyelids pop open when he planted his mouth on hers. Better not entertain such thoughts. Besides, Justine would get her dose; nobody’s business was sacred to Mattie.

      “Mattie, what’s the matter with this cornbread?” he asked when she’d finished her long supplication. She took a bite of bread and chewed it as though relishing rich ice cream.

      “Come on, Mattie, What did you do to this stuff?”

      “Nothing. Tastes good as it always did, and it’s a lot more healthy. I just left out the melted butter and eggs to give Justine a chance to drop a few pounds. I’m surprised she could get into that thing she’s wearing.”

      He pretended not to hear Justine’s gasp. Now that Mattie was on her case, he wanted to see how she would deal with it. “Why do you want Justine to lose weight? As far as I can see, she’s got what she needs, and nothing’s out of place. Next thing I know you’ll have Tonya on a weight-losing diet. Could you please put some butter on the table?” He ignored her loud grumbles as she went to the kitchen. “Don’t pay any attention to her, Justine. You look good to me. Sometimes, I’m surprised Mattie doesn’t have us eating dinner in the morning and breakfast at night—”

      “According to my books,” Mattie interrupted, “that’d be a lot healthier than eating all this heavy stuff and going straight to bed. Here’s your calories, Mr. B.” As though suddenly conscious of Justine’s silence, she went on, “Hope I didn’t upset you none, Justine, but you have to watch—”

      “Mattie, I’ve already told you that I’m satisfied with the way I look. We’ll stay friends if you stop talking about it.”

      “All right. All right, but you mark my word, men like little women.”

      He recognized in himself the desire to protect Justine from embarrassment, and he knew himself well enough to know it spelled trouble. “This man likes women of substance, regardless of size, and I hope this is the last time I hear this subject in my house, Mattie.”

      As usual, Mattie looked toward heaven before uttering what she considered a profundity. “Well hush my mouth. Like I ain’t said one thing.”

      He spread his hands and let a helpless shrug tell Justine that doing battle with Mattie was a waste of time.

      “How about a couple of games of pinochle?”

      The shock of his suggestion had to show on her face. She hadn’t thought that he would involve them socially, and she wasn’t certain that she liked the idea. “I haven’t played since college, so I’d probably bore you. Besides, I need to get Tonya ready for bed.” She’d had enough of his charisma as well as his bluntness for one evening, and she’d as soon get to work answering Aunt Mariah’s mail.

      “Tonya’s asleep. If you take her out, try to have her back before five o’clock so she can be in bed at seven. When she wakes up, I’ll get her something to eat. It’ll take you a while to learn her routine. How about a game? Give us a chance to get acquainted.”

      “Well, all right.”

      She didn’t remember having played cards or done anything else to the tune of Billie Holiday’s “Fine and Mellow.” Her aunts would have had a hissy fit if they’d caught her listening to “that low class trash.” The earthy and mellow voice and the suggestive rhythm made her wonder as to his motive. The track lighting threw round balls of soft light against the beige-colored ceiling and walls, and the floor-to-ceiling mirror that she faced reflected the intimacy of their surroundings at the far corner of the basement. An eight foot maroon-colored leather sofa graced the side of one wall and a large, framed Gordon Parks photo of an urban park in which children enjoyed greenery, flowers, and early spring sunshine hung above it. A gold patterned Persian carpet covered the parquet floor beneath their feet. The only things missing were lighted candles and sparkling champagne. She diverted her gaze from her seductive surroundings to see him studying her face.

      “You don’t feel like playing cards?”

      “Not really. I suppose I need to take stock of things. I’m home, but it doesn’t feel like it.” She couldn’t tell him that mothering her child for those few hours and having to deny their true relationship frustrated and saddened her, even as the joy of being with her baby had been almost intolerable.

      He pushed away from the card table, got up, and changed the CD. Mozart’s Concerto for Flute and Harp did nothing to lessen the scene’s allure. He braced his shoulders, hips, and the sole of his left shoe against the wall, and stuck his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Her pulse quickened, and she had to lower her gaze, but he seemed oblivious to the picture of male perfection that he presented. If he knew the woman facing him doubted that she’d ever been loved and longed to know it at least once in her life, would he turn off the heat, or would he…

      He trained his reddish-brown eyes on her. “This won’t work if you’re not content, and I don’t want Tonya to get used to you only to have you leave. I know you haven’t ever worked as a nanny, and I hope you’ll someday trust me enough to tell me what this move is about. But if you intend to go, please do it now. Tonya needs a woman’s love and nurturing, and I can see that you’ll fill that role, because she seems taken with you, but I don’t want her hurt. I…If I have to have a…someone living in my home, actually becoming a part of my family, I…well, I’d as soon it was you. I think we’ll get along.”

      “I’m not going anywhere, Duncan, but living in someone else’s home takes getting used to.” She switched topics, because the atmosphere was recipe for personal questions. “You have a beautiful home; all you need is a swimming pool.”

      “There’s СКАЧАТЬ