They seemed to be arguing at first, but then they calmed back down and began talking civilly. Soon, they seemed to come to some agreement and then slim suit went his separate way, and Robert headed back inside the ballroom. Charles looked over at him as he entered, as he straightened up his tie and pulled on his tux, and then he headed back to mingle with the other partygoers.
Of all of his sons, his two youngest, Donald and Robert, worried him the most. Tony had his issues, he had, after all, dropped out of college yet again last term, but he was overall a good kid. And Brent was his own man, as tough, Charles believed, as Charles himself. But Robert and Donald were different. He didn’t know if they were leaders yet. They were of age, they were eighteen and nineteen respectively, but he didn’t know if they fully understood that they were men now. When he was nineteen, he was a father of three children, and was working three jobs. But he also knew that it was a different day and time back then.
He looked around the room. Everybody was so festive. Yet he was alone again. Then he realized he actually preferred the solitude, although he was rarely able to enjoy it, and took a seat in one of the round, arch-top chairs and continued to observe the boisterous crowd. It wouldn’t take long, he knew, before somebody else would discover such a peaceful haven too, so he had to enjoy it while he could.
He sat back, unbuttoned his suit coat, and relaxed. He noticed several attractive women in the crowd, and spent most of his time watching them. He had to spend the night in Boston, to attend business meetings he had tomorrow morning in town, and having a nice, soft body to warm his bed wouldn’t be a bad option. But one body in particular, a woman with the most captivating smile, held his attention the most.
And when he saw her coming toward the haven, after admiring her from across the room, he crossed his legs and continued to enjoy the view. There was something about her that radiated warmth. Even her walk, where her feet veered slightly outward, as if she was almost slue-foot, amused him. She wore a blue skirt suit, not expensive by any stretch, but well-made, and matching high heels. The middle section of her jacket was buttoned up, revealing big breasts that jetted out beyond the form of the jacket, and a flat stomach that appeared toned and tucked in beneath the button. But despite the breasts, she was an overall small woman. But with curves. A slender woman with curves. He was going to enjoy this up close and personal view, he thought, as she arrived.
CHAPTER THREE
She nodded her hello as she sat down in the chair across from him, but it was obvious she wasn’t there for chitchat. She slanted her shapely legs sideways, removed one of her high heels, and began massaging her slender toes. Relief washed over her pretty face as she massaged. He first noticed her when she kept declining various invitations to dance from the men in attendance. He noticed her within minutes of his arrival at the reception. The music was loud, the ballroom was festive, but she was moving in and out of the crowd like a woman with more than a party on her mind. She was talking and smiling when it suited her; listening and looking serious when it didn’t. He noticed her throughout the evening. And it wasn’t just because she was the only African-American in the room, even though that very distinction made her noticeable in and of itself. But mainly because, even from his vantage point far away from her, he thought her stunning.
“Feet bothering you?” he asked her.
Jenay Franklin looked up at the man across from her. His legs were crossed, he had a glass of wine in his hand, and his suit was far too expensive to mistake him as Staff. “I do believe my feet have grown a full inch since I purchased this particular pair of shoes,” she replied.
Charles nodded his head. “I’m sure that’s the answer.”
Jenay grinned. “Yes, they are killing me. And I know it looks strange, massaging my toes in the middle of a wedding reception, but I couldn’t hold out another second.”
“Damn right,” Charles replied. “If I had to walk around in those stilts all day long I’d be rubbing toes too. Rub away,” he added, lifted his glass in a toast, and took a sip.
Jenay rubbed away, and was pleased that he didn’t find her behavior objectionable. But she also took a peep at him as he sipped his drink. Late thirties. Average height. Athletically built. A square-lined jaw and strong chin. But it was his vivid green eyes and fair skin, contrasted with his wavy jet-black hair slicked back, that garnered most of her attention. Movie stars had nothing on this man.
She wondered which side was he on, because that was the feel in the room. Two sides coming together, not because they wanted to, but because they had to. The bride’s side were, by and large from what she could decipher, Irish. And the groom’s side was almost all Italian. It would have been easy for her to assume that he was with the Italians, but she learned later in life to never assume anything. “Bride or groom?” she asked him.