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“Miss Cunningham, this is Barbara Johnson. We have a position for a counselor that I overlooked when we spoke before. Would you come in tomorrow at nine for an interview?”
“Yes, I’ll be glad to. Thank you.”
The next morning at nine, Tyra stepped into the Legal Aid Center wearing a white linen suit and tank top, white sandals and bag.
The sisters liked to pull rank, but regardless of status, they appreciated class when they saw it.
Two hours later, she’d been interviewed by a supervisor, examined by a medical doctor and fingerprinted. She had also filled out a questionnaire that contained at least two dozen questions, and she was ready to say, “No more.”
“This will be your office,” Barbara Johnson said, “and your secretary sits next door. After two weeks, you’ll be asked whether you want to keep her or hire one whose skills and personality better suit you. We’d like you to begin tomorrow, but if you prefer you can wait until Monday.”
Nothing needed her urgent attention. Indeed, if she didn’t start work the next day, she’d spend the rest of the week waiting for Monday. “I can begin tomorrow, Ms. Johnson. Would you tell me who I report directly to?”
“Mr. Riddick is in charge of counseling. He’ll introduce you to your associates when you come tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Ms. Johnson. You’ve been so helpful.”
As Tyra left the center, she encountered a young good-looking brother. “Things are definitely looking up around here,” he said as he held the door for her. “I’m Christopher Fuller, and I hope you’re going to be working here.”
“I’m Tyra Cunningham. Glad to meet you.” She extended her hand, smiled and kept walking. She liked his looks, but she suspected that he could be full of himself. He didn’t seem to doubt his attractiveness, and that type had always bored her.
There I go prejudging men. I’m supposed to be looking for a guy, not necessarily to marry, but to get Clark and Darlene off my back. She thought for a second. Maggie, too. If they saw me with that guy, they’d mind their own business. He’s a looker. But something tells me he won’t measure up to Byron. Still…
Tyra plotted to find a man, who might make her reaction to Byron Whitley seem like a child’s delight with a new toy. Meanwhile Byron was arriving at the conclusion that Tyra could be important to him and that he wanted to see more of her. He rarely made a mistake when it came to women, and he didn’t think he’d made one with her. He’d gotten a wallop when he first met her. He knew he could lose interest in Tyra simply by staying away from her and by seeing other women. But to his astonishment, he didn’t want to do that. She intrigued him, and he wanted her.
“I’m wasting time,” he said to himself, recognizing something that was out of character for him, and lifted the telephone receiver.
“Ms. Cunningham’s not home, Mr. Whitley,” Maggie said when he asked for Tyra. “She ought to be back anytime now. I’ll tell her you called. You want her to call you?”
“Thanks, but I’ll try reaching her again later. Goodbye.”
He tapped the fingers of his right hand on his desk. “Now what?”
He phoned his aunt, his mother’s sister, who lived with him and took care of four-year-old Andy when he wasn’t at home. “My dad and Andy caught some striped bass this past weekend. Dad cleaned them, and I put them in the freezer. Would you mind cooking them for dinner? Andy is proud of them, and the sooner we eat them, the happier he’ll be.”
“I’ll be glad to cook them. You know I love fish. Why don’t you call your dad and ask him to have dinner with us tonight?” Jonie said.
“Good idea. Would you mind calling him? I’ll be busy for the next few hours.”
“I’ll call him. If you bring home some vanilla or strawberry ice cream for desert.”
“Will do. Andy will be ecstatic.”
He hung up and buzzed his secretary. “Ask Mrs. Foxx to come in, please.” For nearly a month, he’d been trying to figure out why the woman wanted him to be her lawyer. Rich as she was, she could have any lawyer she chose. He decided to stop guessing her reasons and ask her.
“Before we go further with this case, Mrs. Foxx, would you tell me why you want me to take your case? I’m a criminal lawyer. Yours is a civil suit and you’re not asking for money. Why?”
“I want an apology in The New York Times, and you can get that for me.” That wasn’t reason enough for her insistence that he take her case. She had met him at a reception in the mayor’s office and asked for his card. He remembered her. Any man would remember a woman who looked like her. But blond hair and blue eyes didn’t turn him on. The opportunity arose earlier than he’d expected.
“I shouldn’t take up so much of your time, Mr. Whitley. Why don’t we discuss this over dinner and drinks. We’d both be…more relaxed, and we’d get more done.”
He forced a half smile. “I don’t discuss business after my working hours, Mrs. Foxx. No, thanks. In fact, I advise you to get another lawyer. This case is not for me.”
He stood and extended his hand. “Thanks for considering me.”
She took his hand and held it. “It would have been nice. Very nice.” Head held high and shoulders back, she walked out of his office as if her brazen suggestion had not been thwarted. He buzzed his assistant. “Get me some information on Mrs. Foxx’s husband, please.”
“I have a file on them, sir. I’ll bring it right in.”
He flipped through the file. Hmm. Just as he’d thought. She’d married a rich man many years her senior and she was paying the price. He put the file in his out-box and buzzed his secretary. “Whenever Mrs. Foxx calls, I’m unavailable.”
A glance at his watch told him that if he wanted to speak with Tyra, he’d better call right then. He dialed her number.
“Hello, Tyra, this is Byron. How are you?”
“I feel as if I could jump across the Potomac. I just got a job, and I think it’s perfect for me, that is, if I get some interesting clients.”
“Congratulations. That’s good news, indeed. What will you be doing?”
“I’ll be counseling at the Legal Aid Center, and they want me to start tomorrow.”
“This is wonderful. I marvel at how much you and I have in common. When you get down to it, a lawyer is a counselor.”
“I hadn’t thought of the similarity, and I definitely wouldn’t compare what I’ll be doing with what you do.”
“Yes, but if you’re successful, a lot of people won’t need me. I called because I want to see you. We could go to the Kennedy Center or hear Kiri Te Kanawa at Wolf Trap. If that doesn’t suit you, I could pack us a picnic basket and we could go to Meridian Hill or the Tidal Basin and just be together. The sun doesn’t set before nine-thirty.”
Her silence told him that he had either surprised her or that she didn’t care for his plans. Well, he had patience. Finally she said, “I love the picnic idea, but I haven’t heard Kiri Te Kanawa sing in a long time, so—”
“There’s no reason why we can’t do both, and I’d be much happier. The concert is Saturday evening. We could have our picnic Friday evening in Meridian Hill and at the same time listen to a baroque ensemble. Would you like that?”
“Byron, you’ve discovered my weaknesses. I think it’s a great idea.”
“Then I’ll be at your house Friday afternoon at five-thirty so we can pick a good spot.”
“I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”
He hung up. She’d hesitated, and he wondered why. She was attracted to him, and they both knew it, so what held her back? If she was in a dilemma about him, he’d make up her mind for her the first chance he got. And if an opportunity didn’t come along naturally, he’d make one.
Byron Whitley was rushing her, and although she wanted to see him, she also wanted the experience of finding the kind of man she liked for herself. She didn’t need a matchmaker to fix up her life. She closed her eyes and imagined him kissing her. Her annoyance at Clark and Darlene had all but disappeared, but she still intended to show them that she was capable of managing her own love life. She was attracted to Byron…at least so far, but they didn’t have to know it.
“You going in for a swim?” Barbara asked her the next day at lunch. “The pool’s right behind us. It belongs to the Parks Department, but it’s never crowded. A lunchtime swim can relax you for the rest of the day.”
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit, but I’ll have a look at the swimming pool.” She took the elevator to the ground floor and followed the signs. At a door marked POOL, she read a plaque: “Gift from Morris Hilliard to the Legal Aid Center workers with gratitude.” Very interesting, she thought, wondering what the center had done for Morris Hilliard. Streams of water cascaded from a single, fifty-foot wall, in a waterfall of rainbow colors. Blue and white tiles paved the entrance to the pool and the area surrounding it.
She glanced at the man sprawled out in a red chaise longue. She couldn’t see his face, but his swim trunks advertised his seemingly more than ample equipment. She walked in the opposite direction in hopes of seeing his face without him noticing. The dark glasses did little to camouflage him, because they hardly covered his eyes. Christopher Fuller. She should have known.
Pool or no pool, it doesn’t seem appropriate for the office. But oh, the tantalizing picture he made lying in that chaise. She shrugged, and admitted to herself that she had no right to judge Christopher Fuller.
In the staff cafeteria, she bought a quiche, a bottle of lemonade and an apple, went back to the pool, and took a table in a shaded area to eat her lunch. Several people went for a swim, but she focused on her meal.
“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” the male voice drawled.
She looked up into the face of a man she didn’t know. Seeing that he was tall and easy on the eyes, she let herself smile. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said after dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“And what a pity that is,” he replied. “I’m Matt Cowan. Are you going to tell me who you are?”
“I’m Tyra Cunningham.”
He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Don’t let me interfere with your lunch. What do you do here?”
Very direct she thought. “I’m a counselor. Some people would call me a psychoanalyst, but they’d be wrong.” He crossed his legs and appeared to get comfortable, so she continued eating.
“What is your field?”
She stopped eating and stared at him. Curiosity was one thing, but rudeness was something she wouldn’t tolerate. “Psychology,” she said. “And that’s the last question I’ll answer.”
He stood and wiped the front of his left trouser leg with his handkerchief. “Sorry if I annoyed you. I tend to do that to people.”
“You didn’t annoy me, Mr. Cowan. I stopped you before you got that far.”
He smiled. “I’d like to know you better. But right now, I have to meet a client. We’ll pick this up again later.”
“Mr. Cowan, I had a cat who ignored me until he wanted something. He didn’t let me pet him or even touch him. One day I decided to let him know who held the power.”
Matt walked back and stared down at her. “What happened to him?”
“He loved milk and liver. When he didn’t get either for three days, he began following me around the house, rubbing against my leg and looking up at me and meowing. He got plenty to eat, but not what he craved. After a week, I relented, and he no longer treated me as if I were his servant. He was at my heels all the time.”
“And the moral of this story?”
“I don’t appreciate arrogance.”
“Okay. I stand corrected. Why don’t we have lunch tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know.”
He looked at her for a minute. “I’m about to be late. See you.”
She didn’t think she could get along with him. He was an alpha male type, and he probably went to the gym every morning before getting to work.
She saw Barbara Johnson as she left the pool area and went back inside the building. She wasn’t sure of Barbara’s title or of her precise responsibilities, but she was certain that Barbara knew everything about everybody who worked for LAC, as the employees called the center.
“Barbara, are all of these lawyers full-time employees?”
“Good heavens, no. Fuller, Parker and Jenkins are full-time. All the others are either salaried part-time employees or volunteers.”
She knew she was taking a chance, since Barbara could have been involved with someone at the center, but she asked any way. “What about Cowan? He struck me as being a lawyer.”
“He is, and he makes certain that everybody knows it.”
“Hmm. No love lost there.”
“At first glance,” Barbara went on, “it seems like the pickings here are good. But scratch the surface, and you’ll find that this place is about as devoid of real men as a baseball stadium in January.”
Barbara couldn’t have been more correct or more discouraging. No telling what was behind that. She forced a smile. “What a pity. They’re such a good looking bunch, too.”
“Yeah, but you can’t judge a man by his appearance.”
“Nor a woman.” Realizing that her last comment might have been misinterpreted, Tyra tried to make up for it. “I know you’re very busy, but perhaps we could have lunch.”
“Sure,” said Barbara.
“See you later.” Tyra went back to her office, wondering about her decision. She could be a counselor somewhere else, but the real appeal of the job was its available bachelors. So far, the two clients she was assigned—a teenage runaway and a woman who wasn’t sure she wanted to leave her abusive husband—were depressing cases to work on. She welcomed Byron’s call that evening with enthusiasm.
With Andy in bed and his Aunt Jonie sitting outside on the deck as she did most summer evenings, Byron had a sudden sense of loneliness. He knew it was natural to feel that way after Lois’s death, but her loss was buried deep inside of him in a place that no once could touch. Without thinking, he picked up his cell phone and dialed Tyra’s number.
“Hi. This is Byron. Did I call too late?”
“No. It’s only nine. How are you?”
The word fine came to mind, but he didn’t feel fine. He’d spent the day smiling and pretending. “I’m not sure how I am, Tyra. I think I’d feel better if you were here.” He knew he’d shocked her, but it was no use pretending.
“You’ve surprised me, Byron. If something’s wrong, I’m sorry. I’d fix it if I could.”
“I’m not certain you can’t. Ever since I met you, I’ve been a little off kilter.” And he had. Things that usually satisfied him just didn’t anymore.
“Are you unhappy?” she asked. He heard in her voice the softness and compassion that he’d missed for four long years.
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m obviously not myself, either. And I shouldn’t be dumping this on you.”
“That’s what friends are for. Look, come by and let’s go some place and get an ice cream cone.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. In fact, I think it’s just what I need. Can you make it in twenty minutes?”
“Twenty minutes it is.” She brushed her teeth, dabbed a bit of perfume behind her ears and went in the family room where she knew Maggie was watching television. “I’m going out for a few minutes.”
“If it’s who I hope it is, make good use of the time,” Maggie said as she threw a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
“No comment.”
Tyra grabbed her pocketbook from the back of the dining room chair, took her hair out of a ponytail and closed the front door behind her. As the Cadillac drove up, she started down the walk. Byron got out of the car and met her.
“Hi.” He slipped an arm around her waist, bent over and kissed her cheek. “I’m not moody, but—”
“Oh, you don’t have to explain,” she said, taking his hand. “We all need a lift some time. You’d do the same for me.”
He opened the passenger’s door for her and helped her in. “You’re right. I would, and I won’t forget it.”
