Intimate Betrayal

Chapter 5

Reese was bone tired when her aunt Celeste phoned her at 7:00 a.m. Her night had been haunted by those faceless phantoms that had plagued her life for the past fifteen years.

Had she had these dreams—these nightmares—before that time? she wondered, letting the cool water sluice across her body. If she had, she couldn’t remember. Just as she could remember nothing prior to that fateful day when her life was irrevocably changed.

Shadows, images, screeching tires and screams were all that she could recall. But something had led to it. Something or someone that she could not remember. And all of the hypnosis, therapy, and drugs had not brought her memory back. The first fifteen years of her life were nothing more than a black abyss.

Wrapping the thick, standard white hotel towel around her dripping milk-chocolate body, she thought about how guilty she had felt for so many years. Guilty that she’d survived, and could not remember anything about her mother or father, who had perished.

And whenever her guilt began to ebb, aunt Celeste would find a way to resurrect it, making her feel that she’d betrayed her family because she could not remember them, as she had moments ago.

Reese had assumed the early-morning phone call was her hotel wake-up call. Her heart thundered with trepidation when she heard her aunt’s voice reach out to her across the wires.

“Aunt Celeste, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” she answered in a tight voice. “But how would you know that, you don’t remember to call.”

Reese squeezed her eyes shut and took a long, calming breath.

“Aunt Celeste, I called you before I left Chicago. I gave you the number of the hotel here in New York.”

“That was nearly two weeks ago,” she accused. “I’m your only living relative. I’d think you’d treat me with more regard.”

“Aunt Celeste, please,” she whispered, feeling again like the lost, confused child she’d been for so many years. “Not today. I’m trying to get ready for my trip to Los Angeles.”

“Humph. What you need to do is settle down and find yourself a husband—start a family instead of traipsing across the country digging into other people’s lives when you can only claim half of your own!”

Reese felt the pain of her words as strongly as if she’d been smacked. “You still blame me. After all these years, you still blame me, as if my lack of memory is somehow responsible for everything and intended to hurt you. Well I can’t help that I survived, Aunt Celeste. I’m me, Reese Delaware—or at least what there is of me. And I won’t apologize for my existence anymore.”

“Reese!”

“Goodbye, Aunt Celeste. I’ll call you when I reach Los Angeles.” She hung up the phone before her aunt could respond.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Reese shielded her face with her hands, the weight of her pain seeping through her fingers to trickle down her cheeks.

“Why can’t I remember?” she cried. “Why?”

“Victoria, you have a call on line one,” the engineer who sat to her left said, tapping Victoria gently on the shoulder.

Victoria turned toward Cliff and nodded her thanks. Removing her headset, she took one quick look at the lighted board in front of her, sparkling with colored lights that detailed the circuitry she was working on. Satisfied for the moment, she pushed away from the digital panel.

At the young age of twenty-eight she was head of the engineering division for the Air Force, an unprecedented position. It was her sole responsibility to oversee every aspect of computer assembly and sign off on everything that left her department.

She’d worked damned hard to get to where she was. She’d done some things that made her skin crawl, but she’d survived. Her only regret was losing Max. She’d tried for months to get him to talk to her, but he’d refused. Eventually she’d given up and began to pick up the pieces of her life and move on. But she’d never forgotten the one man who’d almost made her do the right thing.

She depressed the flashing red button on the console. “Davenport,” she said curtly, eager to get back to her design.

“Vicky, dear, I’m so sorry to bother you at work, but I had the most awful conversation with that witch, Reese.”

Victoria twisted her mouth in annoyance. The last person she wanted to hear about was her half sister, Reese Delaware.

“What happened now, Aunt Celeste?”

Victoria returned to her desk. Breathing hard, she just stared at the electronic board.

“Vic, are you alright?” Cliff asked, snatching off his headset. “You look pale.”

Victoria shook her head. “No. I mean, yes—I’m fine. But I think I’ll take the rest of the day off. Something came up.” Quickly she shut down her sector, collected her belongings, and rushed out of the lab.

Driving more by instinct than from paying attention, Victoria took the Fourteenth Street Bridge out of D.C. into the suburbs to Arlington, Virginia.

“Dammit!” she railed, slamming her palms against the steering wheel. What were the chances of your ex-lover and a sister you’ve never met getting together? The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Reese had always wound up with everything—the family, the home, the security. She, on the other hand, was the big family secret. And now Reese would be spending the next six weeks with Max. Would she wind up with him, too?

An hour later Reese was still reeling from the conversation with her aunt when the phone rang again. With great reluctance, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl, it’s Lynnette.”

Reese’s smile lit up the room. A call from her homegirl was just the medicine she needed. She felt as if a weight had been lifted off of her chest.

“Lynnette, you couldn’t have called at a better time.”

“Sounds like you’ve been talking to the wicked witch of the east again,” Lynnette teased.

Reese laughed out loud at the vision. However, her aunt could be more closely pegged as Glenda from the North. Celeste Winston was, on the surface, a stunning woman of fifty-two. Her exquisite peaches-and-cream face was smooth and unlined, haloed by sparkling auburn hair. She was in excellent shape, went to the hairdresser once per week, and spent her well-earned money as a private-duty nurse for the Air Force, on designer clothes. On the surface, Celeste had it all, but underneath she was a lonely, bitter woman who’d never married. And she seemed to take pleasure in venting her frustrations on the niece she’d been forced to raise.

“On target as usual. But I don’t want to talk about her. There’s not enough time in the world. What’s happening at the magazine?”

“Hart is still busting my chops and as pig-headed as ever. I’m working my tail off as usual.”

They both laughed. “But what I want to know is what’s up with you? How is Mr. Wonderful Mystery Man up close and personal?”

“He’s all that and more,” Reese admitted on a wistful note.

“Mmm, sounds serious. Talk to me.”

Reese sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. She crossed her bare legs at the knee. “At first I was all about getting the story of my career, no matter what I had to do to get it. Literally. When we first met, I went into my bag and pulled out all of my tricks.” She chuckled mirthlessly and shook her head. “But the more I’m with him, the more I want to be with him. It’s no longer just the story I want, Lynn. It’s him. And I know I’m really stretching the lines of ethics, but girl, I can’t help myself. When we’re together rockets go off. It’s so intense, sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“Wow—!” Lynnette exhaled. “He must be something. In the ten years that I’ve known you, you’ve never talked about a man like this. What are you going to do about it? And secondly, how in the world are you going to stay objective if you have to keep changing your panties whenever he’s in the same air space?”

They both burst into another fit of raucous laughter visualizing Lynnette’s ribald analogy.

“Girl, you are too crazy,” Reese uttered, choking down the last of her chuckles.

“That’s why we’ve been friends for so long. You’re the sultry, sexy one who winds their way under a man’s skin. I, on the other hand, just jump right in and say what’s on my mind. Consequences be damned!”

“You’re right about that one,” she said.

Reese and Lynnette had met while undergrads at Howard University during a speech communication seminar. They clicked almost immediately and were roommates for the balance of their stay at Howard. After graduation, they both decided to take the plunge and move to Chicago. With their backgrounds and personal savvy, they both landed jobs almost immediately. Although Lynnette worked for Visions as a full-time staff writer, Reese preferred to freelance for a variety of newspapers and magazines. It didn’t allow for a stable financial existence, but it gave her the opportunity to come and go as she pleased. Plus, she never got stuck having to write stories she had no interest in. She picked what she wanted.

“What time is your flight?” Lynnette asked, cutting into Reese’s musings.

Reese yawned and checked the clock. “A car should be picking me up in about twenty minutes. Our flight leaves at ten o’clock.”

“How long are you going to be on the coast? I have some vacation days due to me. I might be able to pop out there and maybe I can squeeze in an interview with Quincy if I plan it right.”

Reese let out a whoop of delight. “That would be fabulous. We’re scheduled to be out there for about two weeks. Then it’s on to Tokyo. Oh please come. I could use a friend,” she pleaded in her best little girl voice.

“Ooh, girl, you know I hate it when you whine,” she joked.

“So you’ll come?”

“Of course. Any excuse to get out of the windy city. I’ll get myself together and work out the details with Hart and I’ll be there. Give me all of your hotel information.”

Reese quickly rattled off her hotel name, along with her flight information. “I’ll call you tonight once I get settled, and you can tell me if you were able to work things out.”

“You know I’ll be able to work things out. I have no intention of taking maybe for an answer. As a matter of fact, I’m packing as we speak.”

“Can’t wait,” Reese said. “But listen, I’ve got to run. The last thing I need at the moment is to be late for my ride.”

“No problem. I’ll talk with you tonight. Have a safe trip.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

Reese hurried around the suite checking that she hadn’t forgotten anything. She breezed by the bedroom mirror then back peddled and stopped. She gazed at her reflection and smiled, once again filled with her old self-confidence. In her throaty alto voice, she belted out the last line of the R&B classic “And I’m Telling You,” by Jennifer Holiday. “I don’t wanna be fre-e-e. I’m stay—in’ and you’re gonna love me! Yeah.” She winked and hurried out of the suite.

When she reached the lobby, she was pleasantly surprised to see Carmen waiting.

“Carmen,” she greeted, giving the older woman a quick peck on the cheek. “I didn’t expect to see you. I thought you were just sending a car.”

“The car is waiting. I just thought it would be nice if we rode together to the airport.”

“I think so, too,” Reese said with a smile, threading her arm through Carmen’s. “What about Max—I mean, Mr. Knight?”

“He always drives his own car to the airport.” She pushed through the revolving door and out into the balmy morning. “He hates being at the mercy of someone else,” she tossed over her shoulder with a wink and a smile.

The double entendre was not lost on Reese.

He knew he was early and that there was plenty of time before boarding. That wasn’t the point. Maxwell paced the waiting area, checking his watch every few minutes. He was edgy. His nerves felt like they were about to snap. The lack of sleep, haunted by dreams of Reese, compounded by the unexpected phone call from Victoria Davenport, had him ready to crush the first person who crossed him.

After nearly two years of complete silence, she calls out of the blue. Why? And why now? She said she’d been thinking about him a lot lately and had been too afraid to contact him for fear of rejection again. She’d said she’d heard through the grapevine about the chip development and she wanted to congratulate him. She, too, was planning on being in Los Angeles within the week, and wondered if he would be in town. If so maybe they could get together—just for a drink—for old time’s sake.

Maxwell frowned and checked his watch again, retracing his path across the sparkling tile floor. Victoria, he’d learned the hard way, was not a woman who did anything without a damned good reason. If she wanted to see him again, she had one, and he was pretty certain her reason had nothing to do with congratulations or unrequited love.

He checked his watch, then compared it to the huge clock that hung above the reservationist’s station. “Where is she?” he fumed between clenched teeth.

“Looking for someone?” Reese asked, easing up behind him to practically whisper in his ear.

He spun around and when his eyes landed on her smiling face, his stomach coiled into a knot of need. “Where in the devil have you been?” he growled in greeting. “Or don’t you realize we have a flight to catch?” He turned away and strode toward the departure gate.

“This trip is going to be longer than I thought,” she muttered to Carmen, who hid a smile behind her hand. Both women followed in comical military fashion behind the unsuspecting Maxwell Knight.

Maxwell’s morning for stress was anything but over. Carmen had purposely seated them together. His intention was to sleep on the flight. But the heavenly scent of Reese’s body oil invaded his senses, her every movement sent waves of longing zinging through his veins.

“Max…”

“Reese…”

They both looked at each other, speaking in unison.

Maxwell’s stern countenance wavered and he smiled. “You first.”

Reese took a breath, briefly looked down at her hands and then into the depth of his magnificent ebony eyes. “I don’t want to intrude on your life, Max. I want you to know that. And I don’t want you to think that I don’t have a conscience. Over the next few weeks, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. I’m going to be asking you questions you’re not going to want to answer. But we can get past all of that.” Her eyes raced across the flawless honey-dipped face. “There’s something much more than just interviewer-interviewee going on between us.” Her husky voice lowered until it felt like a pulse beating in his body. “If I’m wrong, I want you to tell me—now.”

Interminable minutes seemed to tick away before he spoke.

“I wish I could tell you how wrong you are—that your instincts are off.” His large hand reached out and stroked the worry from her forehead. He clenched his jaw, the war of doubt still putting up a good fight. “But I can’t,” he finally said.

Reese let out a long-held shaky breath. She pressed her lips together and clasped his hand within hers. “I swear to you, Max, you won’t regret it,” she whispered.

He grinned like a young boy. “That remains to be seen, Ms. Delaware. But with Carmen behind the scenes orchestrating things, I never stood a chance.”

She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. “Carmen?”

“You must have guessed by now that Carmen thinks she’s my mother. And as my mother, she must tend to my happiness—whatever she decides that may be.” He chuckled. “I’m quite sure she made certain me and you would be sitting together on this flight, while she sat back there,” he added, hitching his thumb over his left shoulder.

Reese twisted in her seat and looked over the heads behind her. She spotted Carmen peeking at her from above the top of a magazine. Reese grinned and Carmen gave her a thumbs-up sign.

“Has Carmen always had a penchant for organizing your personal life?” Reese questioned, settling down into her seat.

“She tries damned hard.” He chortled. “Most of the time she’s right.”

“Do you generally take her advice?”

For a brief moment a dark shadow seemed to pass across his features. Carmen had warned him about Victoria early in their relationship. He hadn’t listened. “For the most part.”

Reese quickly sensed that there was more to the clipped statement, but would not press the point. There were so many things about Maxwell Knight that she wanted to discover, but her writer’s instinct and her female intuition reminded her it would be a very difficult road indeed.

James Knight climbed the stairs to the attic of his two-story home. After receiving a large cash compensation from the military during his service, he’d had the house built. It was the house he’d tried to raise his son, Max, in. Instead, it was the house that he’d watched his life and his marriage crumble in. Beautiful on the outside with a wide front enclosed porch reminiscent of the plantations of the south, whitewashed with tall stately pillars and a perfectly manicured front and back lawn.

His wife, Claudia, had spent innumerable hours finding just the right fabric, piece of furniture, work of art. The house on Pinecroft Court was a palace, but it was never a home. She’d tried—Lord knows she’d tried, but there was always a shadow that hovered between them. It was there waiting for him when he’d returned from Japan.

Pushing open the attic door, he pulled a key from his pants pocket, crossed the small crawl space, and used the key to open an old footlocker.

From within he pulled out a gray metal box filled with yellowed paper, photographs, and signed documents.

James’s warm brown eyes clouded over. For more than fifteen years, what had been done had remained sealed away in his attic and in the “eyes only” files of the military.

But governments change. Policy and administrations change. His son was being interviewed by one of the most renowned publications in the country. Everything would slowly begin to unravel. He knew it as sure as he knew it would rain by the aches in his knees.

He pulled out a faded picture of a beautiful young geisha, Sukihara—Suki, whom he’d loved like no other. How different would his life have been if he’d remained in Tokyo…?

Tokyo, April 1960

The month of April is one of the busiest times in the geisha quarters. In the evenings, the teahouses and restaurants where the geishas—or artistic persons—entertain, are crowded with guests from surrounding cities who have journeyed to Tokyo for the cherry blossoms and the geisha dance festival.

It was late one April evening when James and his army buddy Larry Templeton, who’d been stationed in Tokyo for two months, decided to venture out and see what all the mystery was surrounding the geishas. Since being stationed in Tokyo, they had seen no more than their barracks and their immediate area. They felt totally isolated. Not only was there the language and cultural barriers to deal with, they were the only two black men they’d seen since their arrival. They started off with two strikes against them; they were the American military in a foreign country and they were black—the lowest men on the totem pole no matter where they went.

“Whaddaya want to do tonight?” Larry asked, lacing up his regulation boots.

James chuckled in his deep robust voice. “How many choices do we have, man? It’s not like we’re the most welcomed folks in town.”

“I guess you’re right. But it’s Friday. We have the whole weekend off. There ought to be something.”

James shrugged his wide shoulders. His dark brown eyes slowly lit up. “How about checking out one of those teahouses I’ve always heard about?”

“Hey, why not? How do we get there?”

James sat down on the edge of his single bed and pulled out a slim map from the drawer.

“From what I’ve been hearing the really good ones are in Kyoto.” He unfolded the map and spread it out on the bed. Both young men hovered over the finely drawn lines. James stuck out his index finger and traced a path.

“It’s a good half-hour drive,” Larry said, straightening up.

“You have something better to do?”

“Very funny. Let’s go while the night is still young.”

They drove for nearly an hour.

“You sure you know where you’re going?” Larry taunted.

“It can’t be too much farther. As a matter of fact, good buddy, there’s the Kamo River now. I do believe we have arrived.” James grinned and pointed to the elaborate structure that was pinpointed by brightly lit lanterns, the only illumination for miles around—giving the entire scene a picture postcard feel.

“Hot damn,” Larry exclaimed. “I’m finally gonna meet me a real-life geisha. Wait till I tell the boys back home.” He slapped his thigh and hopped out of the jeep.

When James and Larry entered the teahouse, it was like nothing they’d anticipated. Although they received cold or indifferent looks from the Japanese and white men who were ensconced in various locations of the establishment, it was the role of the geisha to welcome and entertain every man who crossed the threshold. And they did—from singing and dancing to pouring their sake.