Twice the Temptation Read online

  Her salvation had been styling gel that kept her hair in place, or so she had thought. The French twist she had worn for years because of its neatness and practicality now seemed too severe for her oval face. The bangs covering her high forehead helped a little, but she needed something more.

  Leaning closer to the mirror, she studied her reflection critically. Maybe if she wore makeup other than a lip gloss it might soften her face and bring out her dark brown eyes. They were kind of pretty at times. But here again, she never seemed to have the patience to apply it just like the fashion consultant did.

  More time was spent trying to get the smeared mascara from beneath her eyelids than doing the whole makeup routine. Eyeliner was impossible, and dangerous. Afterwards she usually resembled a raccoon or a little girl turned loose in her mother’s makeup kit.

  She glanced at the closed train case on the dresser. Perhaps she should try again.

  Becoming aware of what she was doing and thinking, she straightened and started for the front door. Gabe liked her the way she was. She hadn’t tried to impress a man since Kendall Lawson in the eighth grade.

  She had almost broken her neck in the high heels and she looked ridiculous in the frilly blue dress for the eighth grade dance. Kendall had laughed so hard he rolled on the floor.

  She wasn’t putting herself through that again. Gabe had to take her the way she was. Telling the maid she was leaving, Jessica went downstairs and hailed a cab. Friends accepted each other the way they were.

  Jessica told herself the same thing in varying ways right up until she emerged from the cab in front of Gabe’s brownstone and saw a beautiful black woman clinging around his neck. A woman who obviously had no problem with her makeup or her hair. Her short black hair was as stylish as the black leather miniskirt, which barely reached below her hips.

  Everything Jessica had tried to convince herself of in the past thirty minutes was shattered. She wished she were pretty. Most of all she wished she were pretty for Gabe. Hands clenched, she turned to leave.

  Smiling, Gabe pulled his newest client’s arms from around his neck, took her elbow, and started down the steps again. He never thought giving someone a discount would get such a reaction.

  “You’re more than welcome. I—” He broke off as he saw a woman, head bowed, slowly walking away from him. He recognized Jessica and the long brown cashmere coat instantly.

  He frowned, wondering why she was leaving without saying hello. As far as he knew, she didn’t have any other reason to be in Harlem except to see him.

  “I’m just so glad you’re going to do my portrait, Mr. Jackson. My fiancé is going to be so pleased.”

  Gabe glanced at the excited Loraine and everything clicked. “I’m sure he will. If you’ll excuse me, I see a friend of mine I want to speak with. I’ll call to set up an appointment,” he told the woman as he backed away, then turned and sprinted.

  He easily caught up with Jessica. But since he wasn’t sure what to say, he just fell into step beside her. He had intentionally not called or gone by today because he had woken up smiling, thinking about her, and anticipating the call. A sure sign of a man getting in over his head.

  He didn’t want a relationship. Certainly not one with a woman his brother thought he was going to marry. Gabe hadn’t had time for anything serious with a woman since he decided to paint full-time. Painting had been his life and he hadn’t felt the need for anything else. Until now.

  It wasn’t lost on him that Jessica hadn’t gone by Shelton’s office or house. Gabe knew it as surely as he knew his own name, as surely as he knew his feelings for the woman walking with her head bowed down were steadily growing deeper. He never wanted to see her upset or sad again. She asked for so little in life and gave so much.

  “Hello,” he ventured.

  “Hello,” she returned.

  At least she’s still speaking to me, he thought. “Did you come to visit my studio?”

  “Yes, but I saw you were busy.” Her voice was tight.

  “Yes, Loraine’s my newest client. I’m glad I only gave her a ten-percent discount instead of twenty. She might have squeezed the life out of me. I feel sorry for her fiancé.”

  Slowly Jessica came to a halt and finally met his gaze. “Her fiancé?”

  “It’s her wedding gift to him.”

  “I—” She glanced away. How could she tell him she had been hurt and envious?

  Gentle hands on her shoulders turned her around to face him. “Since I’m free, would you like to come back to the house and see the studio?”

  She wanted to, too much. “I don’t want to keep you from working.”

  “You won’t.” Taking her hand in his, he started back.

  For his studio, Gabe had converted a bedroom on the second floor in the brownstone that caught the first rays of the morning sun. The large, rectangular room was surprisingly neat. On an easel was a covered work-in-progress. The walls were pristine white and unadorned except for one. That was what drew Jessica.

  She slowly walked from picture to picture, her respect for Gabe’s talent growing with each one. There was a portrait of Billie Holiday in a gold dress, her trademark white gardenia in her hair; another of Louis Armstrong, his trumpet wailing while people crowded on the dance floor; happy children playing in the arch of water from an open fire hydrant; four black men playing dominoes on a crate in the front yard of a framed house. But the one that caught and tugged at her heart the most was that of a young woman with a letter clutched in her hand, tears streaming down her cheek.

  “What’s in the letter?” Jessica asked, feeling an instant empathy with the woman.

  “Her future.”

  Jessica faced Gabe. “What?”

  He stood beside her and gazed at the picture of the black woman in the faded dress seated at the scarred table, the windows bare of curtains behind her. One pane was covered with an oilcloth.

  “People tend to see what they’re feeling at the moment. Tears can come from more than fear or despair or pain. There are other emotions like joy, hope, excitement.”

  “Which is it for her?”

  “That’s for you, the viewer, to decide.”

  “Gabe,” she said, exasperated.

  He laughed at the mutinous expression on her face, wanting more than anything at the moment to be able to hug her. He couldn’t. Shelton had to have his chance. But if you mess up, little brother … “You know artists have their quirks. Come on, I’ll fix us lunch.”

  They were cleaning up the bright yellow-and-red kitchen after eating corned beef and rye sandwiches when the phone rang. Throwing the towel he had been drying the dishes with over his shoulder, Gabe reached for the red wall phone.

  “Hello. Hi, Shelly, thanks for the reminder. Hold on.” Pressing the mouthpiece to his white-shirted chest, he spoke to Jessica, “I have an appointment to get a haircut. It only takes about thirty minutes. Do you mind?”

  “No,” she said, letting the dishwater out of the sink and trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

  He smiled indulgently. “I meant, do you mind going with me?”

  “Oh,” she answered.

  “Well?”

  “Not at all.”

  He raised the mouthpiece to his lips. “I’ll be there.” Hanging up the phone, he picked up the last glass to dry. “The receptionist knows how busy I get painting so she gives me a call to make sure I keep my standing appointment. I think you’ll like the salon.”

  “I’m sure I will,” she answered, really not caring as long as she could still be with Gabe.

  ‘Like’ was putting it mildly, Jessica thought as she got her first view of Rosie’s Curl and Weave. Jessica had been in some stylish salons before, but none compared with the subdued elegance of Rosie’s place. From the moment they stepped onto the pastel blue-and-pink marble floor of the spacious, airy salon and were greeted by the receptionist who took their coats, she was impressed.

&nb
sp; The relaxed, unhurried atmosphere reminded her of the European spas she and her mother had visited. She wasn’t surprised to find the facility offered a day spa and an entire array of beauty treatments to pamper their clientele.

  Only two of the chairs lining the white walls were empty. Women and men were being serviced with everything from weaves to permanents. Finished, they could view themselves in the huge mirrors in front of their chairs. Light came from the recessed lighting and elegant globes separating each booth.

  A young woman wearing a black smock came up to them. “Good evening, Mr. Jackson. Anthony is ready for you.” She smiled at Jessica. “Do you have an appointment or are you with Mr. Jackson?”

  “She’s with me, Dakasha,” Gabe said and faced Jessica. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “No. I’ll just look through some magazines.”

  “This way, Mr. Jackson.”

  Jessica took a seat. As time passed, her gaze flicked from one woman to the other. Each hairstyle caused her to wish she could do something different with her own. Surely she wasn’t the only woman in the world with unmanageable hair.

  A fashionably dressed woman with short braids passed. On the back of her head the braids were swept upward into an intricate French twist. Stylish and elegant. Jessica’s fingers touched her own French roll. In her opinion, there was no comparison.

  “Thinking about changing your hairstyle?”

  Snatching her hand down, she jumped up. “It was just a thought. You finished quickly.”

  Gabe knew when someone wanted to change the subject. “Unlike most barbers, Anthony doesn’t stop cutting my hair when he’s talking. Let’s get our coats.”

  “All right.”

  While the receptionist was getting their coats, Gabe couldn’t help noticing that Jessica kept sneaking glances at the other women in the salon. He picked up the shop’s business card and handed it to her. “If you ever change your mind.”

  Silently Jessica accepted the card and her coat and then said, “No one would notice.”

  Turning up the collar of her coat, Gabe stared down at her unhappy face. “So what? Do it for yourself.”

  “My mother doesn’t like braids,” she confessed once they were outside.

  “She wouldn’t be wearing them. You would.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  He stared down into her troubled face. “Sometimes you have to ask yourself what is more important, what others think or what you think? Somehow, I thought you had already asked that question and found the answer.”

  “This isn’t the same as grad school.”

  “Isn’t it?” he asked. “You have to stand on your own and know what you want about every aspect of life; otherwise someone is going to make the decision for you.”

  For some reason her parents’ pushing her toward Shelton flashed into her mind. She had tried to tell them it wasn’t going to happen, but had eventually caved in when the pressure became too much. “I don’t like for people to be upset with me.”

  His mouth hardened. “Then get ready for your life to be run by others.”

  “I’ll speak up for myself when I have to,” she told him, a hint of anger in her voice. “The braids just aren’t that important.”

  “If you say so, Jessica. It’s your life.” Taking her by the arm, they continued down the street.

  Jessica didn’t know why, but she felt sad. As if she had somehow failed Gabe.

  Gabe didn’t feel the elation he had earlier. He had thought Jessica wouldn’t bow to the pressures of Shelton and her parents, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  “I can take a cab home from here,” she said.

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “I kind of think you’re upset with me,” she said.

  “I’ll get over it,” he said. “In your trips to New York did you ever tour Harlem?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re long overdue.”

  “Gabe?”

  “Yes?”

  “If something is really important to me, no matter how upset my parents get, I won’t back down. I promise.”

  He squeezed her hand, not knowing if she realized her hand was trembling in his and that her quiet voice didn’t sound the least bit sure. He only knew it disturbed him that she was frightened and he was going to do something about it.

  “I want to show you what people were able to accomplish because they had faith in themselves and the determination to succeed,” he told her. “I want to show you the Harlem I know.”

  SIX

  Gabe showed her a Harlem she hadn’t known existed, with clean, well-maintained homes, businesses, and streets. As New Yorkers, the residents still didn’t make eye contact with strangers, but those who knew Gabe welcomed her warmly.

  They drove past the legendary Apollo Theatre, then stopped by Sylvia’s restaurant for some soul food. Words failed her when she saw the magnificent Cathedral of St. John the Divine. After one hundred years of construction, the edifice was only two-thirds finished, but when completed it would be the largest cathedral in the world.

  On Monday she saw the original site of the renowned Cotton Club, where such musical greats as Lena Horne and Cab Calloway got their start. The Schomburg Center for Research into Black Culture took the rest of the day. Tuesday they went to the open air African market on 116th. She purchased so much that they had to get a cab from there and go back to the apartment.

  With the passing of each day, he showed her how people with courage and faith in themselves had succeeded when others failed. She recalled hearing that only the strong survive, and it was certainly true of people of color. That night she called her parents and told them she was going to graduate school and Shelton wasn’t a part of her future. Despite their protests, she was firm.

  When she told Gabe Wednesday morning on the phone about notifying her parents that she was definitely going to grad school, he let out a wild cheer. He suggested they should go out and celebrate.

  Aware of the short time left, she invited him to dinner at the apartment instead. He could bring the wine.

  While she was at the market, Shelton called. Dutifully she had returned his call and was told he was in a conference and couldn’t be disturbed. Her delight in his being unavailable didn’t bother her at all.

  Simply, there was nothing she had to say to him, she thought as she went about preparing dinner. Her parents had probably called him and dropped some broad hints. The poor man probably felt pressured to make some overtures.

  She wished she had enough spunk to tell him not to bother. She held her tongue because she didn’t want to be rude to Gabe’s brother, and she owed him for inviting her to New York, even if it was to make points with her father.

  She had just finished lighting the candles when the doorbell rang. Smoothing her hands over her long, midnight-blue velvet dress, she answered the door.

  “Hello, Gabe. Come in.”

  “Hello,” he greeted her, handing her a bottle of vintage wine. “Something smells almost as good as you look.”

  She blushed and took the wine out of his hand. “You must be starved. We can go in to dinner now.”

  Taking her arm, Gabe led her to the dining room and placed the wine in a waiting ice bucket. He had learned Jessica didn’t take compliments well. It angered him because it was a sure sign that she hadn’t received many in the past. He personally planned to rectify the situation.

  They dined on sautéed veal cutlets with wild mushrooms and for dessert they had a fruit napoleon with raspberry sauce. Gabe insisted on helping with the dishes. Jessica refused. He challenged her to a game of five-card-draw poker. The winner would decide who did the dishes.

  “I don’t know how to play poker,” she told him.

  “Perfect.”

  Locating the cards in her aunt’s game room was the easy part—learning how to play was another thing altogether. Gabe couldn’t believe she hadn’t learned in college. She politely informed him poker wasn’t
considered appropriate for ladies at Vassar.

  “And now?” he asked, a teasing light in his beautiful black eyes.

  Jessica pushed her glasses farther up on her nose. “Deal the cards.”

  She lost three games in a row. Gabe’s stack of pennies was growing, hers dwindling. She stared at the three cards in her hand, determined to win this time.

  The peal of the doorbell interrupted her concentration. The sound came again. Sighing, she laid her cards down. “Marla has the night off.”

  “Be sure to check before you open the door,” Gabe cautioned.

  Gazing through the peephole, her mouth gaped, then thinned in annoyance. Shelton. Reluctantly, she opened the door.

  Shelton smiled down at her. “Hello, sweetheart, how are you?”

  Her brow arched at the endearment he had never used before. “Fine. Is there something I can help you with?”

  He tweaked her nose and stepped past her, removing his long charcoal topcoat as he did. “I never knew you were such a kidder.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and tried to remember his part in getting her to New York. “Neither did I.”

  “Gabe, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Shelton said.

  “I might say the same thing about you,” Gabe returned, and leaned back against the silk upholstery cushion.

  Shelton frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Have a seat, Shelton,” Jessica invited, seeing he wasn’t going anyplace. She sat back down on the sofa beside Gabe and picked up her cards.

  Shelton, who had been about to hand her his coat, sat down in an armchair and drew it into his lap, studying the other two people intently. “What are my two favorite people up to?”

  “Gabe is teaching me to play five-card-draw poker,” Jessica explained, trying to concentrate on her cards instead of being annoyed at her unwanted visitor. She didn’t want to share Gabe with anyone.

  “Chess is much more stimulating,” Shelton said.

  Jessica glared over the top of her cards. “This is stimulating and fun.”