Forever (10 page)

Somehow, the act of selling her baby was
what eventually reached something deep inside Vinette, and with it
had begun the long road to recovery. It had taken her three
interminable years. How she'd suffered! First the DTs and the
indescribable craving. The clinics and constant therapy. Slipping
and going back on the shit. Then finding Jesus and finally
overcoming her drug dependency for good. To him that overcometh
will 1 give to eat of the tree of life, it said in the scriptures,
and it was true. Once having found Jesus, her whole life suddenly
changed. She felt herself blossoming. She'd found a new high - a
high such as she'd never known from drugs - and she never wanted to
touch the damn shit again. She didn't even want to see it!

Cleaned out, she had gone and found herself
a real job - even if was only as a ladies' washroom attendant in a
floosey downtown hotel. So what? It was an honest job where she
made an honest dollar. And, with the job came self-sufficiency, and
with self-sufficiency came a feeling of pride. Finally off the
welfare rolls, she was able to hold up her head high.

Jesus Saves, she thought, oh yes, He does;
He's saved me. And, soon's I can afford it, I'll move out of this
dope-infested project and make a real nice home somewhere.

A home for herself and Jowanda.

The ache inside her was overwhelming.

Jowanda, honey, Mama's gonna find you.
Mama's made a terrible, terrible mistake, and she's real sorry, and
she's gonna make it all up to you. But first she's gotta find you,
baby . . .

Because, after she'd straightened herself
out and gone to the CRY orphanage here in D.C., Jowanda was not
there, contrary to what the nice grandmotherly lady had promised
her, and she'd also discovered that they didn't even have any
records on her!

It was as if her baby had never existed.

Or had disappeared into thin air.

But the nice grandmotherly lady who'd had
her sign the papers in the delivery room did exist, and she hadn't
been so nice this time. Something hard, like shutters, had come
down over her eyes as she insisted she'd never in her life set eyes
on either Vinette or Jowanda Jones.

Lies.
Lies!

Vinette clutched her handbag even tighter.
Well, lies were not good enough for her, not since she'd cleaned
herself out and Jesus had entered her life. No sir! Her baby was
out there somewhere, waiting for her to reclaim her.

Thank you, Jesus! I'm clean and clear-headed
now. My life has a purpose, Lord. Seek and ye shall find. Isn't
that what it said in the Good Book?

Oh yes, she was going to find her Jowanda,
wherever she was. She was determined to get her back. Even if the
D.C. CRY orphanage had been a dead end, and all she'd got were
blank stares and the runaround, she wasn't about to let that stop
her.

CRY had its headquarters in New York City,
and maybe someone there would be able to help her. Surely a big
institution like that, with millions of sponsors and children's
hospitals and orphanages in countries around the world, had to keep
detailed files and records. They probably even had big computers
that could find things out in a jiffy.

So Vinette Jones had scrimped and saved and
squirrelled away her washroom tips. She even took to walking to
work and back instead of taking the city bus, just so she would
have enough money to buy a round-trip bus ticket to New York.

She was headed to the bus terminal right
now, looking neat as a pin, and wearing her best dress and least
scuffed pair of shoes. Fortified with the strength of the Lord,
determination glowed on her face like shining steel.

There. She was out of the project now; the
worst of the danger was past. There hadn't been any incident, thank
God.

She breathed a little easier and let her
guard down a bit. Her footsteps quickened. Another brisk half-hour
of walking, and she'd be at the bus terminal and on her way north.
To New York City.

North, to find her baby.

Thank you, Jesus! No one accosted me, no one
stole my bus fare like they did the last time I tried to leave.
Now, if You'll only help me find my beautiful Jowanda, Lord, I'll
be forever grateful. Just point me in the right direction, that's
all I'm asking. And if the CRY people can't help me . . . well,
then maybe that nice old man I ran into at the CRY orphanage here,
the one who gave me his card? The one who was asking all them
questions and kicking up such a fuss until the guards marched him
out? Maybe he'll help me. He's up there in New York City, too.
Didn't he give me his card with his address and telephone number
printed on it and tell me he'd try to help? He did, he did.

Forty minutes later, when the big
Americruiser pulled out of the bus terminal, there Vinette was,
sitting prim and proper and straight as a ruler in the front window
seat, right behind the driver. Still clutching her handbag out of
habit.

Going to find her Jowanda.

New York City

With Johnny Stone's arrival, Sammy Kafka and
Pham Van Hau conspired to make themselves scarce. Both claimed
sudden long errands they needed to run.

Errands my ass, Stephanie thought, wishing
they hadn't gone. It didn't take a psychic to figure out the
reasoning behind their transparent excuses.

They might as well have saved themselves the
trouble. She didn't want Johnny Stone; nor did she want to be alone
with him. She hadn't even wanted to let him in, but after he'd
explained how he'd come all the way from Sidon, what choice had she
had? She couldn't very well accept his condolences out in the hall
and then slam the door in his face - especially in light of the
fact that she had once shared his bed.

Not to mention, she thought, a whole lot
more . . .

So here he was now. Three years later. Live
and jetlagged. Bending over Waldo's cage, scratching his beak and
cooing total nonsense.

For a moment, Stephanie stood back and
watched her ex-lover through slitted eyes. She had to hand it to
him. Johnny Stone knew exactly the right buttons to push.

Some things apparently never changed.

Neither did some others. For instance, he
didn't look half bad. No, to give credit where credit was due, she
had to admit that he looked rather appealing. Too damn appealing,
in fact.

A guarded look shadowed her eyes. Well,
appealing or not, Johnny Stone had no place in her life -
especially not in the life of this older and wiser Stephanie
Merlin. She was determined that bygones would remain just that.
Bygones. The past would never be resurrected. Period.

'I swear this bird missed me,' Johnny was
saying. 'Didn't you, Waldo, old boy?' He turned his face to look at
Stephanie, his penetrating eyes fishing - obviously wanting her to
say she'd missed him, too.

Well, he wasn't going to hear that - not if
he did handstands and cartwheels.

'Waldo,' Stephanie said coldly, 'goes crazy
over anybody who gives him attention.'

'Anybody? You mean, I'm not special?' He
kept watching her, a flicker of a smile on his lips.

She wrung her hands agitatedly, desirous of
the power to magically wish him away. His condolences had been
said, and she'd offered him a drink, which he'd accepted and
finished. Was there any reason for him to hang around any
longer?

'That's enough for you, old boy,' he told
Waldo. Straightening, he came slowly over to where Stephanie stood,
her arms folded in front of her. 'You know, despite the tragic
circumstances, it really is good to see you again,' he said.

She didn't reply, but nodded curtly.

'You must miss your grandfather
terribly.'

'Yes.' Her voice was shaking. 'I do.'
Quickly she turned away, not wanting to share the grief misting her
eyes.

'Stephanie, I know how hard this must be for
you. This place isn't the same without him. It felt different the
instant I walked in.'

Sniffing, she blinked back her tears, raised
her chin, and made her face as expressionless as a mask. 'Thank you
for your concern, Johnny, but you don't have to worry about me. I'm
fine.'

'No, you're not, dammit!' he said softly,
the heat of his gaze pouring intently into her. 'I know you well
enough to know you're keeping all your emotions bottled up.'

'Please, Johnny, I ... I'd like to be alone
now.'

He placed his hands on her shoulders. 'You
shouldn't be alone,' he said quietly. 'Not today of all days.'

She shook her head and tried to push him
away, but his touch seemed to charge her blood, electrify her
skin.

But I don't want him
! something
inside her cried.

Why, then, am I so hypnotically drawn to
him? something else demanded.

Her eyes were shadowed pools as she inhaled
a massive heaving breath. Somehow she managed a staggering step
backwards.

'Don't pull away,' he urged in a whisper,
his hands still on her shoulders. 'You need me. That's why I came,
darling.'

Darling!
The long-forgotten
endearment jolted; penetrated her defences and hit home somewhere
deep and hidden within her.

'Don't call me that!' she hissed, the words
tearing angrily from her lips. A sudden redness rose from her
throat into her face, and despite herself, she could feel the
violent trembling of suddenly wobbly legs, could sense the painful
thrust of her nipples against the softcup bra under her black silk
dress. Then her eyes quickly fell. 'I ... I think it's time for you
to go now, Johnny,' she whispered huskily.

Gently he chucked a finger under her chin.
'Darling, don't look away. Look at me.'

She was finding it difficult to breathe.
Electricity charged the air, seemed to snap and crackle and
spark.

'Stephanie . . . ' His hands tightened on
her shoulders.

'No!' she whispered, shaking her head. 'It's
wrong! It's -'

'Darling

Again she shook her head, once more
attempting to pull away, but he gently raised her head to his; with
his other hand, he cupped the softness of her face from cheekbone
to jaw, his touch feather- light, his fingers communicating
consolation.

She stared up at him, her head tilted back.
For an instant her pupils dilated, and then her expression
softened, the breath catching in her throat as she beheld the full
force of his gaze. The turquoise of his eyes was uniformly serene,
but sparkles of silver winked in their depths, like hypnotic
sun-dapples on gently shifting water.

Time seemed to telescope, then stood
absolutely still.

The longer she stared into those luminous
turquoise pools, the more she knew she was gone. It was useless to
fight it; senseless to continue contesting the long-suppressed
feelings which fluttered and stirred wildly inside her. Almost
against her will, she found herself reaching up and covering his
warm hand with hers.

He held her gaze. 'If only for a short
while,' he murmured, 'I want you to try to forget your loss.'

As though possessed, she swallowed hard and
nodded, the emotions within her ballooning to choking. Suddenly she
wanted so badly for him to grab hold of her and kiss her, to make
her feel protected and safe and loved, for the haven of his arms to
ensure the reality of living, and chase away the suffocating cloud
of death.

As though he had read her mind, both his
hands cupped the satin smoothness of her face. 'Stephanie . . . '
he breathed, his thumbs caressing her cheeks,' . . . my
Stephanie

A mild, damp breeze blowing in from the open
windows ruffled her dress and tugged at the black velvet ribbon
which held her hair at the nape of her neck.

'Stephanie . . . ' he whispered again.

'Johnny . . . ' she returned, her own voice
a hoarse whisper. But before she could say more, he shushed her and
bent towards her, his mouth pressing against hers.

Her eyes went wide.

Slowly, the tip of his tongue teased her
lips before worming between her teeth to dance and dart and
probe.

She shut her eyes and let herself go. She
felt as if she were drowning. Swirling wondrously down and down.
Down to endless depths.

So many sensations this kiss aroused! So
many feelings it opened up and released. Delicious, the paralysing
heat which spread from her mouth, filling her with a sweet pliant
languor which seeped through her entire body.

How she loved it. How she needed it. How
much she'd missed it. It was useless, now, to attempt resistance
any longer. There was nothing to do but press herself tightly
against him, slip one arm around him, place the other hand behind
his head, and draw his face even closer into hers.

She inhaled the masculine scent of his skin,
feasted on the sweetness of his breath.

Drowning . . . drowning . . .

His lips left hers and it was as if a part
of her was suddenly missing, a sweet stolen from between her very
lips. Her eyes abruptly flew open.

'Don't stop!' she whispered, clutching him
fiercely and staring into his eyes. 'Please don't stop!'

In reply, he silently bowed his head even
lower, his lips now tracing a moist path down her chin and neck,
until he found the throbbing, rapidly beating pulse in her
throat.

He closed his mouth around it and licked
gently.

Her entire body arched.

It was almost more than she could bear.
Everything inside her longed for him, cried out to possess him.

She closed her eyes as she felt him
unbuttoning her dress, gasped as he slid it down over her shoulders
and unhooked her brassiere. The sudden rush of air was cool against
her naked torso.

And all the while, his lips were still at
her throat, as though taking communion from her speeding pulse.

She mewed softly as his caressing hands
slowly slid back up her spine, then deliberately traced the curve
of her shoulders. She barely felt him reach behind her neck to
untie the black velvet ribbon which kept her hair pulled back.