A Scandalous Affair

The kiss was slow and sweet, the tenderness born from years of knowing each other flowed through them.

Marriage was bliss, Vaughn thought, feeling her body warm to a sizzle, and she wouldn’t change a thing—except the loss of their baby. For that she would always blame herself—her drive and her ambition—the catalysts for her marriage. She’d known how much Justin wanted a child between them, and she’d deprived him as surely as if she’d told him no. And now it was too late, she was sure. They’d made love without protection for all the years of their marriage—and nothing.

She held him tighter, lingered over the kiss a bit longer. Every day, for the rest of their life together, she would make it up to him. That was a promise she had no intention of breaking.

Justin, with a groan deep in his throat, reluctantly moved away. He gazed down into her eyes.

“You look tired, babe.” He brushed her shoulder-length hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Rough day, huh?”

Vaughn released a heavy sigh. “That’s putting it mildly. It was totally draining.” She took a seat at her dressing table, crossed her ankles and swiveled the chair to face Justin. “There’s going to be trouble, Justin.”

He slowly nodded and lowered his muscular frame onto the edge of the bed. “I know. And it looks as if our daughters are going to be right in the front of the line.”

Vaughn pressed her lips together. “You know they’re both right. Things have gotten totally out of control. Not just here, but across the country.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and shivered. “It’s terrifying, especially for black males.”

“Believe me, I agree one hundred percent. But I guess I’m just like every other parent—why my children?” He chuckled derisively.

“I know. But I’m proud of both of them. They have the kind of values and vision that’s been lost these past generations. After the sixties, we became complacent, Justin, simply because we could drink at water fountains, sit where we wanted on a bus or in a diner, and move into neighborhoods we’d been banned from.”

“Legally mandated integration was just a Band-Aid for what really ails this country. Racism,” Justin added. “The Band-Aid covered the sore for a while, but now the decay is oozing out of the sides. The hate is still festering underneath.”

“I’m willing to do whatever is needed to support them on the congressional floor, or in the street,” Vaughn said, the fire underscoring her words.

“And so am I.”

They held each other with just a look, their commitment to themselves and their children needing no more words.

Justin pushed out a breath, and slapped his palms on his thighs. “So—what time is this shindig?”

“Nine.”

Justin checked his watch. “I promised Chad I’d pick him up at the airport. His plane lands at seven.”

Vaughn rose and gently kissed his lips. “Go take a quick shower and change. You don’t want to rush.”

Justin grinned. “Yes, dear.”

She playfully swatted his arm. “I’ll go see what Dottie planned for dinner, while you’re in the bath.”

Dorothy Beamer had been hired during Vaughn’s abbreviated pregnancy to help around the house and look after Vaughn. Dottie was more than just hired help, she was her friend. When Vaughn lost the baby, Dottie insisted on staying, and on nights like this one, Vaughn was glad for Dottie’s comforting presence.

Moments later she heard the rush of the shower as she made her way downstairs. She had a good life, she mused upon entering the high-tech kitchen. She had a great career, a fabulous husband, wonderful children and enduring friendships. Yet she couldn’t help but feel that the foundation of it all was shifting somehow, about to change. Possibly forever.

Chapter 4

Samantha pulled her candy-apple red Mustang convertible behind her sister’s Mazda just as Simone was cutting her engine. She picked up her purse and briefcase from the passenger seat and slid out of the car in concert with Simone.

The locks on both vehicles beeped simultaneously, sounding in an uncanny harmony, and the two strikinglooking young women laughed in unison.

“Hey, sis,” Samantha greeted, her wide mouth blooming into a smile. She strutted toward her sister, her sneakered feet moving soundlessly across the pavement.

Simone took in her stepsister’s carefree attire and casual attitude, both more than adequately camouflaging the keen mind and dancer’s body. Samantha Montgomery was probably one of the most powerful women in the post–civil rights movement era. At first glance, the unknowing would mistake her ingenue appearance for the actions and mannerisms of a young college coed. That was the first mistake, to underestimate her, to misjudge her by her looks. Simone always believed that her cunning sister should have gone into politics herself—made a run for public office. But Samantha insisted she’d rather fight in the trenches than from the air where you couldn’t make out your target.

“Hey, girl,” Simone greeted in return, planting a kiss on Samantha’s cheek.

“I thought I’d see your name smeared all over the papers today along with mine,” Samantha teased, slipping her arm around Simone’s slender waist as they walked toward the house. Samantha truly admired her sister and her ability to contend with all the bureaucratic bullshit and still get the job done despite the odds against her. She definitely had her mother’s warrior spirit, Samantha mused. When it came to dealing the political deck of cards, Vaughn and Simone were at the top of their game.

“I got honorable mention,” Simone joked. “I’m sure they’ll get to me before the week is over.”

Samantha tipped her head toward her sister. “Not to change the subject, but isn’t that Dad’s car?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So he must have already picked Chad up from the airport. Wasn’t his flight due in at seven?”

Simone’s pulse began to throb at her temple. Her throat was suddenly dry. She swallowed. “Yeah, I think so,” she finally uttered, trying to stay calm.

Samantha beamed. “I can’t wait to see him.” She walked faster toward the front door, nearly dragging Simone in the process.

Suddenly, what Simone really wanted to do was run back to her car, turn on the engine and speed away. For weeks, right up until a few minutes ago, she’d been living for this moment, acting it out in her head, rehearsing what she would say, how she would smile and respond when he kissed her cheek.

Samantha stuck her spare key in the door and turned the knob. Simone froze. Samantha turned her head toward her and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Simone blinked. Her smile flickered like a fading light bulb around the edges of her mouth. She shook her head briskly, the sleek, blunt-cut hairstyle rippling past her cheeks. “Thought I forgot something,” she lied smoothly and wished she hadn’t. Instead, she wished she could tell Sam about the butterflies that were rampaging around in her stomach, or the hot and cold flashes that had taken over her body. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. In all this time, she’d never said a word to anyone about that night. Not a word. It was all she had left of him after his plane soared away—her dream and her fantasy—and she hadn’t wanted to share it with anyone, not even with her sister.

So, here she was, locked in place in front of her parents’ house, her heart racing, her palms sweating, and the best explanation she could come up with was she thought she forgot something.

Simone put on her best smile, slipped her arm through her sister’s and crossed the threshold. Hey, this was the millennium. No promises. No strings.

Justin rose from his relaxed position on the couch when Simone and Samantha entered the living room.

“There you two are.”

Simone’s eyes quickly took in the very classy decor of her parents’ home, with its gleaming hardwood floors, stylish high-arching ceilings, working fireplace and perfect combination of carefully selected antique furniture. Chad was nowhere among the splendor.

“Hi, Dad.” Samantha kissed his cheek and went straight to the bar, mixed herself a short screwdriver and took a quick sip before Simone left Justin’s embrace.

“Where is our guest of honor?” Simone dared ask.

“In the spare room, changing. He should be out in a minute.”

Samantha sauntered over with her drink and took a seat on the paisley-patterned chaise lounge. “Ahhh, that feels good,” she sighed, stretching out her long legs. She shut her eyes. “Any more heat from the other night, Dad?” she asked, referring to possible fallout from the protest.

“You need to talk to your mother about that. Her office was bombarded with calls all day.”

Simone and Samantha groaned in harmony. Hearing their father blast them out was one thing, but their mother was a different story. She was merciless. When angry, she was not one to pull her punches.

“You two should groan,” Vaughn said, whisking into the room with the same vitality that captivated her constituents. Gone was the woman who was bone-tired and deeply worried about her daughters. In her place was a charming, charismatic hostess who looked poised, relaxed and revived, as if she’d just gotten up from a nap.

Vaughn crossed the room, greeting each daughter with a warm kiss and a hug. “But we’ll put all of that aside for the time being and just enjoy the evening. Dottie fixed a great meal and my goal tonight is to relax with my family.”

“Sounds good to me,” Samantha said with relief.

“I’m going to see if Dottie wants me to bring anything out,” Simone offered, pushing herself up from the couch.

Justin turned on the stereo and the sweet serenade of Sarah Vaughan singing “My Man” followed her down the foyer to the kitchen.

When she entered, everything seemed to stand still. He had his back turned to her, unaware of her presence as he was wrapped in animated conversation with Dottie.

“You sure ’ave been missed,” Dottie was saying in her lilting Jamaican accent.

Chad laughed lightly. “It feels good to be back, Dottie, it really does,” he uttered in earnest. He clapped his palms on the countertop and pushed up from the stool. “I guess I’d better join my welcome-home party.”

“Good to see ya, dahlin’,” she said, patting his cheek in her customary motherly fashion. “Ahhh, Simone, come take this tray to the folks,” she said, noticing her standing in the archway.

Chad slowly turned toward her and his easy, inviting smile spread across his full mouth—one that Simone would never forget. His lids, fanned by curling lashes, rose, revealing the stomach-tumbling sparkle in his eyes.

Simone’s breath rushed from her lungs, then caught and held in her throat before releasing in a nervous giggle.

Chad walked toward her, arms outstretched as he gathered her close to his body in a tight, welcoming embrace.

For an instant, Simone pressed her head against his chest, shut her eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart. She could have stood there forever, inhaling the scent of him, comforted by the strength of him, but of course that was a silly daydream of a one-time fantasy.

Simone stepped back, praying that her smile wasn’t as shaky as she felt. She blew out a breath. “Well, look at you. Traveling suits you.”

He bowed modestly. “Thank you, ma’am. You look great yourself.”

An awkward moment of silence floated between them as they each took an instant to revisit the past. They stood there stiffly, quietly trying to force down the uneasy surge of memories.

“I, uh, guess we can catch up later. I’d better get this food out there to the starving masses,” Simone quipped, needing something to fill the blank space between them.

Chad nodded and stepped aside. “We definitely will,” he said quietly as he watched her take the tray from Dottie and hurry back out front.

She looked good, Chad thought as he took his time entering the front room. He wondered how often, if ever, she thought about that night between them. He did. Often. It was one thing that kept him grounded as he traveled from one country to the next, sleeping in countless hotels and hamlets he’d sooner forget.

Why hadn’t they stayed in touch during the past four years? he wondered. Many times he’d considered writing to her, just to let her know she was in his thoughts. But he hadn’t and neither had she. And as the days turned to months and then years, the reasons for doing so grew dim. After all, he reasoned over and over again, they’d made no promises, had no commitments to each other. And from her reaction at seeing him again, perhaps it was just as well.

He put on his game face and joined the party.

Chapter 5

Dinner was a robust affair with flowing conversation, laughter and numerous trips down memory lane, and enough food to feed an army. Stuffed with good will and a solid meal, they collapsed into respective spots of comfort in the living room. Soft music flowed from the high-tech stereo system, adding another layer of relaxation onto the group.

Vaughn half sat, half reclined in Justin’s arms, her lids growing heavy with each passing moment, even as Justin and Chad carried on an invigorating conversation about new evidence that could totally exonerate the defamed O. J. Simpson.

“From what I’ve heard, there was suppressed evidence of a phone conversation between Nicole and her mother after the time she was supposed to be dead,” Justin stated.

“You know as well as I do that they’ll never let that brother rest in peace,” Chad responded. “It’s bad enough that they couldn’t convict him of murder. Folks are still ticked off about that.”

“You’re right about that,” Samantha chimed in. “But imagine if it could be proved he was on a plane to Chicago and she was still alive chatting with her mother? The fallout from that would be worth the price of admission and then some.”

Everyone nodded and mumbled in agreement.

“Believe me, if there really was evidence to clear him, they’d bury it until the man was six feet under.”

“The restitution, not to mention the total loss of political credibility, isn’t something they’d risk.”

“But how often have we seen this happen?” Samantha asked, her dark eyes polling the occupants of the room. “It’s going on right now, even as we speak. The black man is always assumed guilty until proven innocent. If they’re not killed first.”

Chad edged forward on the couch and clasped his hands in front of him. He looked pointedly from one to the other, making sure he had their attention. “There were several reasons why I decided to come back when I did,” he began in deep, measured tones. “One, of course, is that I missed everything and everyone.” For a breath of an instant, his gaze focused on Simone’s face, then moved away. “The other, and even more important, is that I think it’s time—past time—that we took measures into our own hands.”

Justin stiffened and Vaughn quickly put a halting hand on his arm.

“What are you saying, Chad?” Samantha asked. “We turn the clock back to the sixties and get out in the street—in force? Because if it is, I’m with you one hundred percent.” She made sure not to catch her father’s eyes, but she knew he was glaring at her.

“I was thinking about something that will provoke national attention, with no physical risk to anyone,” Chad offered.

The room fell silent, quiet enough to hear each chord of the keyboard played by Herbie Hancock on a track from his latest CD. He almost sounded like the Herbie of old, the young wizard on the ivories with Miles, stretching an old standard to its creative limits.

It was Chad who broke the spell of the music as he spoke solemnly to the others. “I want to launch a class action suit against the D.C. police department on behalf of all victims and families of victims who have been killed, beaten and unjustly jailed by police. I want it to set a precedent so that the same lawsuit can be brought in every state across the country. I want to bring all of those families together in one massive action against the Justice Department of the United States. It may not be possible to get everyone on board, but it’s worth a try.”

The silence deepened as the mammoth ramifications of Chad’s daring proposal took root. Carefully, he gauged one expression after the other, measuring their reaction. Justin looked stern and contemplative, Vaughn awed. He could see the wheels spinning in the eyes of Samantha and an awakening in the face of Simone.

“It can be done,” he added. “People engage in class action suits all the time for poor or dangerous products, illness resulting from improper medication. You name it. But no one has yet to take on the entire law enforcement apparatus, the vicious national policy of police brutality as a whole, the entire machine and mentality that oils them—the Justice Department.”

“It would be unprecedented,” Samantha finally said, fully grasping the enormity of it.

“But a massive undertaking,” Simone added, also thinking of the legal and political maneuvering involved.

“That’s why I need your help.” He looked with a plea in his eyes from Simone to Samantha. “Simone, you have a strong foothold in the community. You’re gaining a political edge and it would give your platform for the Assembly seat that much more bite and focus.”

Simone thought about it and knew it was true. This could very well be the key to seal her election run—or destroy it. Any action taken on a federal level was always risky.

“And Sam, you’re the fire. You’re out there every day, in the trenches. The press knows you, the people know you. And not just here in D.C. Your name gets noticed in the media across the country. You could easily represent the national voice of the people.”

Simone glanced briefly at her sister, who looked mesmerized by the possibility, seduced by the beam of notoriety. And in that instant, a twinge of something unnamed lurked and found a dark refuge in the corner of her mind. Her gaze trailed to Chad and the same determined look as Samantha’s lit his face. That thing burrowed a bit deeper.

“Are you really prepared—legally—to pursue something like this?” Justin cut in, breaking the trance, scattering the thing deeper into hiding.

“Yes, I am,” Chad stated emphatically. “I’ve been preparing for months. And I’d like you to work with me on the legal end.”

Justin looked at his wife.

“You realize that once this process begins and the wheels are in motion, the momentum will be too powerful to stop,” Vaughn said, imagining the ripple effect on the Hill, the sides that would be taken on both sides of the aisle—and most of all the toll it would take on her family. She studied the eager and determined expressions of her children, of Chad, who was like a son, and looked across at her husband, whom she trusted beyond measure. She spoke only to him. “Whatever you decide to do, I’m behind you.”

Justin squeezed her hand and nodded, both of them knowing his decision.

Chad sighed audibly, then slowly smiled. “We can do this,” he said in an almost hushed reverence. “And when we do—everything will change.”

Simone helped Vaughn gather up the dishes and load the dishwasher while surreptitiously stealing glances at Samantha and Chad, who were locked in animated conversation, peppered with musical notes of laughter and light touches on a hand or arm.

Her stomach bobbed up and down like a buoy on rough seas, and the tightness in her throat was the only thing that kept her from screaming.

But at what? she wondered, frowning as she turned the dials and the machine churned to life. She had no hold on Chad, no claim on his heart. He was a free man. Free to do as he chose, as was she. So was Samantha. All unclaimed. Then why did it feel as if that weren’t true?

Chad was spending his first night in Justin and Vaughn’s guest room, both of them adamantly refusing to let him spend the night in a hotel.

Samantha and Simone said their good-byes, giving their parents the ritualistic kiss, hug and promise to call.

Simone stood aside as Chad embraced Samantha, lightly kissing her cheek and conveying something she could not hear. She glanced away.

“We’ll talk,” Simone suddenly heard close to her ear as her sister sped away. She turned and Chad was at her side, gazing at her in that familiar way of his.

Simone looked up. “Sure.”

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. His lips stayed pressed against her flesh for a moment too long and the old sensations roared to the surface. Did he feel it, too? Her heart pumped faster. “It was good seeing you again, Simone,” his voice caressed. “You’re more beautiful than I remember.” His finger stroked her cheek and it took all her will power not to tremble.

“Maybe we could get together—for lunch or dinner.”

“I’m really busy, Chad…”

He held up his hand. “Hey, no explanations needed. I understand. Maybe some other time.” He opened the car door and held it until Simone was behind the wheel.

She stuck her key in the ignition and the engine purred to life. She pressed a button and the window lowered halfway.

Chad leaned down. “Get home safely.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled and backed out of the driveway.

Chad watched the car until it turned out of the drive and tore off down the smooth, black-tarred road.

Slowly, he turned back toward the house and quietly shut the door behind him.

That night, lying in bed, Chad stared through the sheer curtains that billowed with the light spring breeze and out onto the seamless blue blanket, sprinkled with star dust. He was home, among those who loved him, and it felt good. Very good.

It all seemed so quiet, so perfect, as if all was right with the world. How deceptive a quiet night could be. Behind closed doors, strategies were devised, lies constructed, papers read, televisions watched and lovers loved. He and Simone were perfect examples of a quiet night, both projecting a picture of cool control, an emotional distance, while still maintaining a tangible warmth. He turned on his side, his thoughts still turbulent.

She’d changed. That was obvious. There was a toughening of her edges, a new aloofness that he didn’t remember being a part of who she was. Perhaps it was the work, the things she’d seen and had to find a way to deal with. There was no way she could successfully coexist in the world of politics without developing a tough exterior. A shell to ward off the blindside attacks and sudden assaults of the opposition. Beltway politics at its meanest.

Had Simone become hardened inside as well? She wasn’t the woman he’d left four years ago. But neither was he the same man. His journey into the abject misery of the Third World, with its many plagues of hunger, disease and war, had awakened something deep inside him. He saw everything around him now with new eyes, saw beyond the obvious to the essentials of things. Yes,Simone had changed. And it was apparent from her response to him that she’d moved on and had no intention of revisiting the past. How did he feel about that?

Truthfully, it was a mixture of regret and relief. Regret that there wasn’t a special someone waiting for him, that she was not what he’d imagined during his time away, and relief that he wouldn’t be called upon to live up to or recreate what had once been. The memory was always more perfect than the reality. The mind always played tricks with time and emotion.

Maybe it was just as well. He came back for one major reason—to make a difference. That was what he would concentrate on.

Samantha stepped out of the shower and walked nude to her bedroom. She’d completed a full hour of aerobics, light weights and stretches upon returning from her parents’ home.

Her smooth, brown, heavenly sculpted body glided by the full-length mirror. The long, sinewy legs, tight thighs—and just the right amount of curve and lift to her behind to make a man holler—moved in perfect motion about the room. She hadn’t reached a point yet where gravity had gotten a lock on her, dragging everything toward the ground. Her 36B breasts were still high and firm and she worked hard at keeping them that way for as long as possible.