Like Sheep Gone Astray (4 page)

Anthony ran his fingers along the eight-by-ten photo, studying Terri's slender five-foot-three frame, remembering how easy it was to fall for her smile, the way her hips bounced with her quick steps, the silky, long relaxed curls that flowed past her shoulders back then. She had the kind of beauty that left him forgetting to breathe. He was holding his breath at that moment.

This woman is so fine,
he thought to himself, shaking his head.

But does she know Me?
The thought caught him off guard.

It was always the same question. Anthony put the picture back down on the table. He only wanted to answer one question right then:
Where is the letter?

Anthony sat down on the upholstered bench where Terri had tossed her bag. He felt a wave of relief as he took out his Bible and began flipping through the thin gold-trimmed pages. But as he kept flipping and no white envelope surfaced, an alarm went off somewhere between his heart and his stomach.

“No! Oh, no!” Anthony groaned as he checked and re-checked to make sure he was not missing it. He turned the Bible upside down and emptied the contents of Terri's bag onto the floor. He searched the rest of her sitting room, but the truth remained. The letter was nowhere to be found.

“Lord Jesus, what do I do?” Anthony cried while rubbing his temples. “Forget the letter,” he told himself while picking up the telephone. He dialed and hung up twice before letting the receiving end ring.

“Praise the Lord,” a kind, assuring voice answered.

“P-p-pastor Green?” Anthony stammered.

“Anthony, is that you? Is everything all right?” Pastor Green sounded concerned.

“Yes, yes.” Anthony paused. “Well, no. I mean, I—I need to talk to you.”

Anthony paused again.
I'm not ready for this, not yet,
he contemplated. Pastor Green voiced further concern.

“Anthony, you have been coming into my mind lately. I have been praying for you. Is everything okay?”

“Pastor Green, if you are available, I would like to meet with you sometime tomorrow. There's something you need to know.”

They made plans to meet at the church the next evening. Before hanging up, Pastor Green encouraged Anthony.

“You know there is nothing happening in your life that Jesus can't handle. He already knows the beginning and the end. Just stay with Him, Anthony. Just stay with Him.”

Anthony hung up the phone and hit the wall with his hand.

“Lord, please don't let Terri find that letter! Please, Lord!”

Chapter 2

T
he dining area at the Westcott Room in the Quadrangle Towers was already filling with patrons hoping to avoid the Monday lunch rush. Terri was glad that she had arrived forty-five minutes prior to her 11:30 appointment with Reginald Savant. She had skillfully chosen a quiet booth overlooking a garden courtyard her firm had helped design.

She opened her briefcase for a last-minute study of her presentation. Terri was sure that an air of confidence, capability, and creativity would lead to success. Raylin and Blake Interiors was depending on her not to let Reginald leave without signing the contract.

Terri had spoken only with his personal assistant prior to this meeting and never directly to him. A positive and memorable first impression was first on her agenda for this career defining meeting. She smoothed down the sides of her favorite business outfit, a navy blue suit with a matching crepe scarf. With its subtle plunging neckline and hem that dangerously skimmed her lower thighs, she had always found success when she wore this form-flattering ensemble. She was just reclosing her small compact when she heard the maitre d' approaching the table.

“Here's your party, Mr. Savant.”

“Thanks, Steve,” a silky bass voice answered.

“Mrs. Murdock,” the voice continued, “a pleasure to finally meet you. My assistant has advised me that you have been most professional and courteous, and, may I add, very dedicated to our project needs.”

Terri noted the full-length lambskin leather coat. She admired the three-piece double-breasted silk Italian suit. She observed the diamond cuff links sparkling above his extended manicured hands and she listened to how his voice nearly sang the words he said. And then he sat down.

“Mr. Savant,” Terri began while slowly easing her right hand from his tight grip, “I want to assure you that our firm is committed to helping make your hotel the standard of the industry. We have several ideas and themes for you to consider, based on the projected budget and proposal your assistant sent to us.”

“And Mrs. Murdock, I assure
you
that whatever ideas you personally think will work”—Reginald smiled deliciously—“I will strongly consider. Your reputation as a brilliant designer precedes you.”

Reginald paused as a waiter put a bread basket and salad bowls in front of them. He took a forkful of lettuce before continuing.

“A woman of your technical and creative caliber on my team is bound to bring the clever taste and luxurious appointments I desire for the Empress Hotel. I've seen your work at the Palisades Diner.” Reginald paused again, his smile melting into his chocolate brown skin. “Lovely. Simply lovely.”

“I see you've done your research.” Terri was pleased.

“Of course. I seek only the best for my projects. The Empress Hotel is just the beginning of my dream.” Reginald put down his fork. “Black America has been disillusioned for too long. We need to see our own succeeding, and entrepreneurship is the key. Imagine, an international chain of five-star hotels, black owned and black operated.” He looked up as he spoke, his hands animating each word.

“A man of vision. I like that.” Terri's smile deepened.

“So where do we sign? Let's get this business stuff out of the way so we can enjoy our lunch.” Reginald pulled a pen out of his briefcase.

She saw no need to disagree. Terri presented the forms and the deal was done. Before the second course was served, Mr. Savant answered a call on his cell phone.

“I do apologize, Mrs. Murdock, but I must cut our lunch short.” Reginald reached for his coat. “Here's my card. Call me so we can further discuss the plans.”

He scribbled something on the back of the card.

“And here's a number where you can reach me anytime you want. Day or night.” And with a wink, Mr. Reginald Savant was gone.

“Raylin, Blake, and
Murdock
Interiors,” Terri mumbled gleefully to herself. She studied Reginald Savant's business card for a second or two before she placed it in her briefcase.

“Definitely a man of vision.” A sugary smile lingered on her lips as she finished her lunch and asked for the check.

The newspaper rattled loudly before he slammed it down on the desk.

“Ain't a good job nowhere,” Marvin Tucker mumbled as he leaned back in the squeaky chair. He crossed his lanky arms behind his head. “I've got to find me a real job with real money like you
once
had so I can get out of this dump. Man, what time is it? I'm ready to go!”

“Marvin, we just got back from lunch.” Anthony chuckled at his office mate. He pretended to skim the business section of the ruffled paper to hide the wince that shot through him.

Like you once had
…

“Do you plan on getting any work done today?” Anthony looked back up with a hard swallow. “We still have to develop some advertising ideas for Priscilla Coates's new pet-care business. Here, let me show you some slogans I came up with.” He reached for a folder.

Marvin laughed. “Brother, you take everything so seriously. I mean, look at you, sittin' there in your pin-stripe suit and your alligator-skin shoes, trying to come up with some jingle to sell pooper-scoopers.”

“Hey man”—Anthony smiled—“the Word says do all things as unto the Lord. He wants excellence. That's what I'm trying to give Him.” Anthony's tone sobered as he dropped his eyes.
I'm trying
. The words pierced him. He was not ready to expose his real thoughts and feelings surrounding his current job to Marvin—or to anyone else, for that matter.

“Save the sermon for Sunday, preacher boy.” Marvin smirked. “Don't worry, one day I'm going to get right with the Man Upstairs. As soon as I retire my player's uniform, I'm going to put on a choir robe.” Marvin kept laughing. “Those singing church sisters can convert me
any
day.”

Anthony shook his head.

“Well look”—Marvin reached for his jacket—“I'm going to head back out to the Solomon Grill. You saw how that waitress was looking at me. If anybody asks, just tell them I had an unfinished business deal to attend to.” Marvin buttoned his coat.

Anthony looked up from the papers on his desk, a frown tugging at the comers of his mouth. “You're forgetting about the staff meeting we have with Mr. Haberstick in half an hour. You remember what happened the last time you missed a staff meeting?”

“Let's see”—Marvin playfully stroked his goatee—“go see the cutie around the comer? Or old man Haberstick?” Marvin snickered as he stepped out of their office. “I'm not asking you to lie for me. I'm just asking you to be creative.”

“Lies, lies, lies,” Anthony drummed his pencil on his daily planner. Pastor Green would be waiting for him at the church later that day. The thought sent Anthony's stomach twirling in knots.

“Mr. Murdock.” Anthony looked up to see Diane, Mr. Haberstick's assistant, standing in the narrow doorway. “I didn't mean to startle you. I wanted to let you know that today's staff meeting has been cancelled. Mr. Haberstick does, however, want to meet with you sometime tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Ms. Martin.” Anthony watched as she disappeared into the quiet hallway. The silence was broken every now and then by a quick tapping on a computer keyboard or the unhurried footsteps of a fellow associate.

“A meeting with the big boss can mean only one of two things,” Anthony said to himself, getting up to look out the office window. “More work,” he sighed, “or no more work at all.”

Anthony studied the back of a neighboring warehouse on the other side of the windowpane. Several Dumpsters sat haphazardly around the perimeter. The downtown-skyline view from his former thirty-second-floor executive suite at Shaw Enterprises floated briefly into his memory.

He stood idle a few seconds more, looking around the cramped office. Files, papers, boxes, and computer disks were strewn about, especially on and around Marvin's desk. Anthony sank back down in his chair and spun it around to face a small conference table. In his right hand was the engraved platinum writing pen he had carefully selected to match his former Shaw Enterprises office-suite furnishings. He wiped a smudge off the gold initials before focusing back on his present work.

“I've got to finish on time today,” he mumbled as he reached for a stack of papers, the knots in his stomach tightening.

A chilly wind stirred as Anthony left his job at Haberstick Associates promptly at four-thirty. He had an hour and a half before his meeting with Pastor Green, giving him enough time to run home for a quick snack and a shower.

“Good night, Anthony.” Mr. Haberstick, the company president, left the office behind him. “Look's like a storm is coming,” the older businessman noted. The two walked across the parking lot in offbeat steps as Mr. Haberstick continued. “Diane informed you of my desire to meet with you tomorrow?” Surprisingly, Mr. Haberstick's soft, warbling voice commanded authority.

Anthony nodded.

“Good.” Mr. Haberstick smiled. “I have a special account that I want you to handle.” He paused for a second before continuing. “I'm sure with all of your past experience this will be easy for you. I will give you more details tomorrow.”

Something in Mr. Haberstick's tone sent a tiny shiver through Anthony. He looked at the aging man, his back slightly humped, the sparse gray hairs on his head rippling in the brisk breeze.

“I'm sure you've probably grown bored with the small scale projects we've been undertaking, but don't worry. There's something in the works that's more on your level. Of all our staff, I am certain
you
will appreciate this opportunity.”

The way he stared at Anthony, the way he singled him out, Anthony felt something was wrong. The older man was getting into his car when his wrinkled cheeks stretched into a smirk. Anthony began
feeling queasy. Did he know?

“I would prefer that you do not discuss this project with any of your colleagues. Based on your past performance at Shaw Enterprises, I'm sure that you
will
accept this challenge.”

Mr. Haberstick's voice became more biting with each word. Anthony froze.

“Oh, there is no need for alarm, Mr. Murdock. I would never ask you to do anything that you weren't capable of doing. This project is right up your alley.” Mr. Haberstick stopped smiling, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes bored into Anthony's. “I know about Stonymill, but don't worry. Your secret is safe with me, Reverend.”

Anthony watched Mr. Haberstick's car pull away before getting into his BMW. He wiped a finger through the growing layer of dust on the dashboard, barely remembering the obsessive enthusiasm he'd had for keeping the car clean when he'd first purchased it in the spring.

“What's the point?” he whispered, feeling dusty and dirty inside and out. “What kind of witness am I? How did I let it get this far?” Anthony rested his head on the steering wheel. “I'm sorry, Lord! I'm so sorry!”

As he wrung his hands, he realized something else was bothering him.
How did Mr. Haberstick know?

Cherisse Landrick stood over one of the burgundy pillar candles and let the spicy aroma fill her nostrils.

“Mmm, girl, this is perfect.” A mischievous smile spread across her face as she stepped back to inspect her work. Terri, sitting on the edge of a loveseat, agreed.

“Cherisse, you have outdone yourself,” she said, admiring the warm glow filling the living room. Candles of all shapes and sizes and in all shades of red were skillfully placed on the side and coffee tables and in wrought-iron sconces on the walls.

“Moving the dinner out in front of the fireplace was a great idea,” Terri continued, gazing at the bewitching flames. “You really think this will work?” She turned to her friend. Cherisse finished rubbing some spots off the stemware before she sat down next to Terri.