walked past the maître d’.
“I beg your pardon, madam,” he said with his nose just a little higher than she imagined it usually was.
“A gentleman was waiting here for me. I suppose he left.”
The man gave her a dismissive look. “He did, indeed, and I can imagine that he was greatly embarrassed to wait an hour and a half with an untouched glass of wine in front of him.”
She spun around and went to the pay phone near the women’s room. “Oh, my Lord. I could have called him when I was in the service station, but all I thought about was that I didn’t have my cell phone.” When he didn’t answer his cell phone, she called Harrington House.
“He ain’t here.” It was Henry, the cook, who answered. “He said he was having dinner out. Who should I tell him called?”
“His… Tell him that Pamela called. Thank you.” She hung up and began the long drive home. No one had to tell her that wherever Drake was, he was furious, for he hated to wait for anyone and didn’t make anyone wait for him. She trudged into her house, locked the door and checked her answering service. He had not called. A ham sandwich and a glass of milk sufficed for dinner, which she ate pacing her kitchen floor. What had caused those tires to blow out?
She phoned the station attendant. “Did you check those old tires to find out what caused them to blow?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did. Somebody slashed them.”
“What? When could anybody have done that?”
“Beats me. The slashes were so long and so deep that you couldn’t have driven out here from East Baltimore on those tires. It— Say, a big yellow Caddy drove in here right behind you. It was here while you were inside the station paying the bill, and it took off without getting anything. I wonder… Well, anything can happen these days.”
She thanked him, finished her sandwich and went to bed. She’d left a message telling Drake that she called. Now it was up to him.
Drake let himself into Russ’s apartment, dropped his suitcase on the floor and went to the kitchen to find something to eat. He knew that Russ wouldn’t be home until much later, and he hoped that by that time, he would have rid himself of his anger and frustration. He wouldn’t have expected Pamela to leave him sitting in a restaurant without phoning him to say she couldn’t make it. It was out of character. Bowing to his protective instincts, he phoned a policeman, a long-standing friend, to know whether an accident had been reported on Reisterstown Road or Milford after five o’clock that afternoon. There hadn’t been. He wanted to telephone her, but she had his cell-phone number and hadn’t used it. He took the phone from his briefcase, saw that he’d forgotten to turn it on and checked the voice mail for messages. There were none. His emotions warred with each other, anger battling frustration, hurt struggling with anger.
He defrosted some frozen shrimp, sliced some stale bread and toasted it, found some mayonnaise and bottled lemonade, and ingested it. However, the ache inside of him didn’t respond to food. Russ got home around ten-thirty and found Drake sitting in the living room in the dark with his shoes off and his feet on the coffee table.
“What’s going on?” Russ asked.
“Sorting out my thoughts.”
“Yeah? Can’t you sort ’em out with the lights on?”
“Very funny. Will you have time to drive me to the airport tomorrow morning? If not, I can call a cab.”
“Of course I’ll take you. Leave your flight schedule, and I’ll meet you when you come back. Say, man, what happened to you tonight? You’re in the dumps. Wouldn’t be that you’re strung out because you’ll soon be the only single man you know, would it?”
“You’re the one to talk. You practically barricaded yourself against the idea of marriage, when all of us knew you loved that woman so much that you didn’t have a hope in hell of staying single.”
“Let that be a lesson to you. When it grabs you, don’t waste energy trying to resist. Who’s Sackefyio marrying?”
“Ladd? He’s marrying Doris Adenola. He went with Hannah Lamont the whole time he was at Howard, and a couple of days before graduation, he told her he had to marry someone of his tribe. Hannah was so far down, I thought she’d commit suicide. A lot of African guys do that. When it comes to marriage, they do as their elders tell them. Hannah was a good-looking gal. I can’t wait to see what Miss Adenola looks like.”
“It must work for them, but it certainly wouldn’t work for me,” Russ said.
“Me neither. When are you going back to Barbados? Splitting myself between there, Frederick and Baltimore is tiring. I think we ought to consider getting another engineer.”
Russ sat down in his favorite chair—a big, overstuffed leather one—stretched out his long legs and relaxed his feet on the footrest that matched the chair. “Hiring an engineer would relieve you, but Telford wants this to remain a family business. It would help if we chose jobs more carefully. When do you expect to finish in Barbados?”
“A couple of months more, if all goes well.”
Russ sat forward. “What could go wrong? We’ve got a great gang of workers. Drake, it isn’t like you to be negative. If you can’t talk to me about whatever it is, talk to Telford, or Henry, or Alexis.”
“Thanks. I’m all right. It’s just… You know I never go into anything without nursing the idea before—”
“Yeah, I know, but you’re nursing it to death. Is it Pamela? I sure as hell hope you’re not considering anything serious with Louise.”
His head shot up. “That butterbrain? What do you take me for? I dated her twice as a favor to her brother. He had some fish to fry and wanted his sister out of the way.”
“You sure must think a lot of her brother. The angel Gabriel couldn’t have gotten me to go out with that dame a second time.”
“Tell me about it. I think I’ll turn in, Russ. I have to catch a nine-o’clock flight, and that means leaving here at six-thirty. Sure you want to take me to the airport?”
“No problem. You make the coffee.”
Drake hung up his tuxedo, took a shower and crawled into bed. He didn’t remember ever having thrashed in the bedcovers trying to sleep. But he couldn’t get Pamela out of his thoughts. He reached over to his night table and turned on the light. Twice he dialed most of her number and hung up before completing the call. After an hour of turning and twisting, he sat up. Why should he care that she hadn’t kept their dinner date? Hadn’t he planned to tell her it was best they not see each other? He slapped his palms on his knees and let out an expletive. Did he want to stop seeing her, or didn’t he?
At the airport the next morning, he checked in, passed security, bought a sandwich for later and went to the seating area at the departure gate. How would you feel if she left the country without saying a word to you? his conscience demanded. At five minutes before boarding time, he capitulated to his conscience and his feelings and telephoned her, and a hole opened up inside of him when she didn’t answer at home, at her office or on her cell phone. He took his seat in first class, thanked God that his seatmate was a woman with good hygiene habits, fastened his seat belt and closed his eyes.
