The Honorable Harold L. Beechum, Supreme Court justice, peach cobbler crunch. With two weeks to go before the Brother’s Baking event, Regina sat in the office reviewing the alphabetized list of participants and making notes. Perry Donaldson, network news producer, apricot spring rolls—that’s easy coverage, even if it’s his own station. Ted Hampton, comic, carrot cake? “A-freakin’-mazing.” She tossed the pages on her desk.
“Something wrong?” Sydney looked up from a stack of sample invitations.
“No. I uh, was just surprised to see Ted Hampton on the Brother’s Baking list.”
“He is so-ooo funny.” Glenda, a round-faced cherub with a bouncy personality, leaned over her typewriter. “I mean, for an older dude, he’s still pretty hip.”
“Yeah. Well, I guess I need to check with him. See if he’s available for press.” See what the hell he’s like and figure out what to tell Jewell. Regina always thought he was hip and funny too, but those qualities left his daughter unmoved. She just dates guys old enough to be her father, or ones who act like her father. She won’t have anything to do with her actual father.
Sydney made most of the calls to check for availability, but Regina saved Ted for herself. “It’s a Las Vegas area code. You know, entertainers, late nights. I’ll give him time to be awake.”
Regina took the number home, paced the apartment dragging her red phone. It wasn’t that he was famous. Anybody else, she would have been talking them up, inviting them to Mondays at Afrique. But they weren’t Jewell’s father. Regina always felt like she was supposed to hate him to be loyal, but she also thought there might be more to the story than Vivian’s angle. She could drive anybody crazy. Regina poured herself a glass of wine, cleared a spot on the futon, sat down. What the hell. And dialed. This is probably his agent’s—
“What’s up?” That familiar craggy voice was in her ear.
“Yes, uh, Mr. Hampton, this is Regina Foster…” She explained who she was and what she wanted, not the questions she would have preferred, but the ones she had to start with.
“I’m up for whatever’s on the plate. I get in that Monday, do a couple of nights at Caroline’s, then after the event, shoot down to Harrah’s in AC. I can plug that too, along with these damn cakes. Incidentally, I’m baking a couple now. Can you smell ’em?”
“Wish I could.” She tried to imagine the man who prowled the stage, skewering the high, the mighty and the masses, sifting flour and creaming butter. It never occurred to Regina that Ted Hampton and her father shared a hobby. Ted was hip, cool, a Brother Baking. Albert Foster was a Dull Dad who baked cakes in the basement.
“I bake in my spare time, freeze ’em, and I’ll ship the whole magilla before I cut out. Now why I don’t just send a check and forget this foolishness is beyond me.”
“Uh, Mr. Hampton—” Your daughter is one of my best friends. She’s great and she needs to meet you, but she’s too stubborn. “—I do these parties on Monday nights and I’d love it if you stopped by.” Regina wanted to check him out first, before she figured out what to say to Jewell.
“Thank you darling, but I’m not much of a clubgoer. Those late nights’ll tear ya up.”
Ted was booked on Live the day before the event, which didn’t leave much time for Regina to do an assessment and tackle Jewell, but that’s all she had to work with. When Regina phoned to let him know when the limo would pick him up, he said he didn’t want any fuss and that he and his cake would meet her at the studio. Jewell never wants a fuss either. Maybe she gets that from him because it’s sure not from Vivian. Regina toyed with whether to call Jewell and let her know Ted was in town. That she was working with him. I’ll wait till there’s more to tell.
Two days in DC wasn’t a cozy weekend at the beach or in a mountain chalet, but Jewell had been looking forward to the trip since Dwight first mentioned it. Aside from the night they stayed at Forestina’s Sag Harbor house after a party, they hadn’t been away together and they spent that night in separate rooms. Even if it wasn’t a weekend, Jewell decided there was something illicit and delicious about stealing away during the week. She had first suggested they drive to Washington, have some quiet time in the car just the two of them. She’d had her BMW for a couple of months and hadn’t taken a real road trip yet, but Dwight said he didn’t care much for traveling by car. “If it’s longer than a taxi ride I get itchy. Besides, driving is a waste of four perfectly good hours.” So Jewell revised her fantasy. Cruising along the highway with the top down and the wind in her hair was out, replaced by holding hands on the shuttle, gazing at the clouds, relaxing into each other.
But as soon as he was buckled in Dwight retrieved papers from his briefcase. “A few things I want to get out of the way,” he told her.
Jewell flipped the pages of the airline magazine to chill her frustration. When she looked over at Dwight she was surprised to see a letter on 924 Parkview Real Estate Management stationery among his papers. “That’s my old building.”
“Oh? It’s one of King’s.” He shifted the page to the back of his stack.
“He’s not taking good care of it these days. The halls are a mess…”
“I steer clear of King and his holdings.”
“But the building is in your district,” Jewell said.
“I have to walk a fine line between the interests of tenants and landlords. All renters are not as responsible as you were, Jewells.” He leaned over and kissed her—end of conversation.
Dwight had taken care of booking the hotel and Jewell was pleasantly surprised to find an elegant old one where she imagined long-ago ladies in hoop skirts, sauntering through the stained-glass arch in the lobby, past the same oil portraits, delicate settees and tea tables as she did now. “This is lovely,” Jewell said when the bellman left them alone in their suite. The yellow-and-white striped wallpaper looked prim and proper, a delightful contrast to the rich tones of the elaborate drapes and the lush damask sofa. On the mahogany bar, a bud vase held a single, sensuous orchid. “Hmmm, our love nest.” She sauntered to him, folded her arms around his neck, let their foreheads meet. Jewell closed her eyes, released a sigh she wasn’t aware of carrying.
Dwight put his arms around her waist and they rubbed noses, nibbled lips. His voice husky, he said, “This old place has been a hub for power brokers since the turn of the century.”
Not exactly the sweet nothing Jewell was expecting, but she gently redirected. “That’s downstairs. I suspect some very different negotiations went on up here.” She guided his hand to her thigh where the garter met the lacy top of her stocking. She’d had a delicious time picking out lingerie to surprise him and spice things up.
“You have a point.” Dwight’s hand traveled back up to her hip. “But further explorations are going to have to wait. I made dinner reservations downstairs, and there are some folks we’re likely to run into at the bar that I want you to meet.”
Jewell hadn’t been aware of the agenda, but she put her seduction on hold and went along with the program after a change of wardrobe from the body-skimming coral dress to a more appropriate salmon pink collarless suit and her pearls.
“How do you always know what’s perfect?” Dwight came out of the bathroom after a quick shave, a fresh shirt and tie.
“And there’s still a surprise for you later, when you take off the wrapper,” Jewell purred.
The bar was a dark, clubby hive, filled mostly with men in serious suits and very white shirts, who drank bourbon or scotch to oil the conversation. Some people she recognized, like the diminutive former secretary of state and the journalist whose toupee looked worse close up than it did on TV. Dwight was in his glory, back-slapping, belly-laughing, introducing her to a bipartisan parade of legislators, lobbyists and think tank policy wonks. Having found a place where she felt anonymous, although not unnoticed, Jewell smiled on her bar stool, sipped her wine. “What’s a beautiful woman like her doing with the likes of you?” was the standard comment. Dwight never failed to work her claim to fame into the discussion. “Nice catch. Don’t blow it, Dixon,” said a Southern senator from Dwight’s party. “Ninety-four is around the corner.” But Dwight got a chilly reception from the portly congressman from New York’s fifteenth district, the one that mostly closely corresponded to Dwight’s city council precinct.
This must be what he feels like when we’re with entertainment people. In between meeting and greeting Dwight told her about each person’s role in the DC power grid, the components of which would be scrambled come election year.
“How do you know all of them?” Jewell asked when they finally went to dinner.
“Let’s just say King and his cronies have been around. He has friends in high and low places. I used his connections, made a few of my own. Nobody succeeds in politics alone.”
Once away from the hurly-burly, Dwight seemed edgy, anxious to get through dinner. Before Jewell could order coffee he said, “I’ve got something I want to show you.” Hand in hand they left the hotel and strolled into the heart of picture-postcard Washington, DC.
“I’ve never been here.” They arrived at one end of the mall and Jewell gazed at the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, bathed in white light. This nighttime tour was a lovely surprise and the perfect way for her to take in the sights without having to give autographs or pose for snapshots. How did he know that?
“Never? If I’d known that we’d have come here sooner.” Dwight gestured toward the grand buildings laid out before them. “This is a magnificent place. I almost think of it as holy. The home of democracy practiced with a forthrightness and determination that has never existed in the history of the world.”
Jewell liked the animation in his face when he talked about things he loved. The way the arch in his brows heightened, an affirmation of what he believed in.
He pointed out museums, galleries, monuments on the tour until they arrived at the foot of Capitol Hill. “Isn’t it magnificent?” Dwight looked at the Capitol dome. “This is where the real decisions are made, the seat of true power.” He took Jewell’s hand, led her partway up the steps.
“Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time here.” She looked up at the building and at Dwight in silhouette against it.
“I’d like to spend even more.” Dwight had a curious twinkle in his eye. He mounted the next step, took both her hands. “Jewell, you know how committed I am to what I do. Nothing is more important to me than serving my city—except the chance to be part of a broader forum.”
Where is this going? Jewell’s brain was yelling “spit it out,” ready for the resolution to the cliffhanger.
“As you know, I’m not the most spontaneous guy, but I’m dedicated and hard-working. Always looking down the road, trying to see what’s ahead.” He paused, took a breath. “So, I’m sure it won’t be a surprise to you that I’m building a coalition to mount a congressional primary challenge in ’94. It’s time for some new ideas.”
“That’s fantastic,” Jewell gushed.
Dwight stepped back, held her at arm’s length. “There’s one more thing.” He locked her in his sights. “I don’t want to do this without you.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ll have all the support I can drum up. I’ll be your biggest cheerleader.” Jewell smiled. “I never got to be one in high school!”
“That’s not what I mean.” He lifted her face in his hand. “I want you by my side.” He cleared his throat. “I want you to marry me Jewell. Will you?”
Jewell was stunned. Of course I have to say yes. She believed in Dwight. He was everything a man was supposed to be. I can count on him. “I’d be honored.” She heard herself say it, but half expected a director to say, “Cut. Can you try it again, and this time make me feel it?”
Dwight reached in his pocket, untied the knot from an embroidered handkerchief. “My mother wasn’t with me very long, but she’s been the most important woman in my life, until now.” He lifted Jewell’s hand. “This ring was hers. I’d be honored if you accept it from me.” He tried to slip the cluster of diamonds on Jewell’s ring finger, but it didn’t fit. “I guess we’ll need a little adjustment.” He slid the ring on her pinkie, then brought her hand to his lips.
Their walk back to the hotel was quiet and for Jewell, the grandiose architecture was now merely a backdrop. I’m getting married. Dwight will be my husband. She searched for how she felt, looked for her motivation, but this was a scene she wasn’t expecting to play quite yet. There were no thunderclaps or fireworks when they were together. Not like with Billy. No aching emptiness when they were apart. And that got me exactly what? And her frolic with Gianni had been fun, but nothing to build forever on. Jewell suppressed a chill and wrapped herself in a calm resolve. I’m so used to drama I don’t know what real life feels like. And this, she determined, was as real as it gets.
“Now, where were we this afternoon.” As soon as he closed the door to their room Dwight was all over her, squeezing, rubbing, reaching under Jewell’s skirt for her garters. He covered her face in a frenzy of kisses, almost till she couldn’t breathe.
“Come on now, let’s slow down. We’ve got all night.” Dwight’s love-making was a lot like he was: direct, determined, single-minded. He generally took the expressway to satisfaction, and as he’d gotten to know the route, he traveled with increased speed. Jewell had hoped to encourage him to take a leisurely ramble through her unexplored pathways. She pulled away a little, tugged playfully at the end of his bow tie with her teeth.
“Let me.” Dwight yanked off his tie, quickly got out of his clothes, barely noticing the lacy enticements she had carefully chosen to please him.
Jewell sensed he was in overdrive and there was no throttling back so she held him tight and led him to the place that only she gave him, a place where her talking man needed no words.
Afterward, once he’d caught his breath, Dwight rested his head in the crook of her arm. “I’m the luckiest man on the planet, Jewells.”
And that was her fulfillment, especially tonight. Sex was a fleeting, overrated pleasure, but tonight they had made a commitment to become each other’s family. That’s what was important. Jewell checked to make sure his mother’s ring was still on her finger, waited for his breath to slow and his head to weigh heavy on her arm. She eased him over onto the pillow, then lay in the darkness, imagining how her life was about to change and how she’d tell Regina and Carmen the news. As soon as I get back to New York.
Regina’s Thursday Hook-up lasted until Friday morning, leaving her just enough time to regroup and meet Ted at the studio. She showered, letting the warm water run over her face to help clear the congestion that was a side effect of her self-prescribed pick-me-ups. Wrapped in a towel, she squeezed a couple of extra shots of nasal spray up her nose, doused her eyes in Visine and stopped in the kitchen to reheat yesterday’s takeout coffee and get an eye-opener hit from the cream of tartar jar—left in the back of the cabinet from some long-ago Jewell recipe—where she kept her fresh stash of cocaine. This week she had Reuben dispense her cut of the proceeds in white powder, since she was tired of running out midweek and having to stop by DeVille for a refill. What used to feel like a lightning bolt to the brain, was now more like a jumpstart from a spare battery, but she needed it because this was no time for sleep.
Regina found Ted in the green room, newspaper spread out on the table, reading. Jewell looks so much like him. Regina had never realized it because in his act he was always in motion, loud mouth roaring, putty face contorted to capture the essence of his subject. Regina never imagined he could be so still.
“Mr. Hampton—”
He looked up, back from where the news had led him. “Ted’ll do.” He folded the paper, crossed his legs.
Regina’s morning picker-upper had her pumped, ready to keep up with the rapid-fire conversation she expected from Ted, but now she found herself throwing the emergency brake on while the car was doing eighty. They talked quietly about the city, about the event and his Atlantic City gig. He seemed genuine, warm, like someone Jewell should get to know. Either he’s changed a lot or Vivian got it wrong.
A producer came to get Ted and Regina followed him to the set. She stood in the wings and watched him enter his zone. Right at his intro he popped into gear and Ted Hampton, irreverent comic, was on turbo. The segment was only four minutes, but he commandeered the show, and did a two-minute riff on black men baking. “It’s not to get in touch with my feminine side. It’s pure survival. You ever read the ingredients on a pack of snack cakes? Half that stuff makes you crazy, the other half makes you too stupid to notice.”
Regina wasn’t really listening. She was trying to figure out how to tell him about Jewell.
As soon as Ted had shaken hands, waved to the studio audience and ducked backstage he had returned to neutral and coasted over to Regina. “So I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
“Yes, okay. And—uh—Mr. Hampton—Ted—” The time was speeding by so fast she hadn’t figured out a graceful transition, so she just plowed ahead. “I know your daughter, Jewell. We went to school together. She’s really a good friend. We even shared an apartment.”
Knuckles planted on narrow hips, he nodded. “So you’ve probably been looking for my horns.”
“No. I’ve been looking for a way to convince her to talk to you. I—I think she’d like you.”
“You like big challenges, huh?” When he smiled, his face came alive the same way Jewell’s did. “My door is open, my phone is on. You know where to find me. She was a great kid.” Some memory passed before his eyes, then he put it away. “You can tell her I’ll meet her anywhere, just let me know, but don’t get your hopes up. Past experience tells me this is a hard sell.” They headed out to the street. “Thanks for wanting to plead my case.”
Regina headed to the office and tried to reach Jewell off and on for the rest of the day, but got no answer and this was not a message she wanted to leave on a machine. After midnight, she gave in. “Bijoux, it’s me. Call as soon as you get this.”
They had only been away two days, but so much had happened that Jewell felt like she’d been gone longer. She’d awakened Saturday after a fitful night, with a throbbing headache which only intensified on the plane ride home. Instead of the peaceful sleep of a bride to be, her wakeful dreams bounced from bridal gowns to what she knew would be Regina’s glee at being asked to coordinate the wedding, to incorporating her furniture into Dwight’s house. And while she was sailing along on that happily-ever-after fantasy, she’d bump into which room to make a nursery. Then she’d careen smack into the wall of truth she’d been bypassing. I have to tell him. So sleep had been elusive and the last thing she wanted right now was another meet and greet, but her first official, soon-to-be-Mrs.-Dwight-Dixon duty called.
“This won’t take long.” Dwight squeezed her hand. “It’s part of the big picture.”
Jewell smiled, rubbed her thumb on the underside of her newly adorned pinkie finger. “It’ll be fun.” The show must go on. At nine she had performed like a trooper on the Daddy’s Girl set even with a painful earache. She danced on a network special with a sprained ankle when she was twelve and auditioned a week after she’d given birth. Public appearances as the star were second nature, but she was still figuring out her new supporting role with Dwight.
On either side of the entrance to the Harlem Y stood ten-foot balloons shaped like gingerbread men. Once Jewell and Dwight passed the sugary sentries, the aromas of cinnamon, butter and cocoa guided them to the gym which was a sea of tables draped in red-and-white checkered cloths. Behind each was posted a Baking Brother. Some were garbed in chef toques, others in kente cloth aprons and kofis, but all laughed, jived, and talked up his special confection.
“What’s up Mr. Dixon?” said a boy in shorts and a baggy Y T-shirt. “You gotta taste Mr. Nichol’s brownies. They’re the bomb!”
Jewell smiled as Dwight gave him a high five. He’s good with kids. He’ll be a great father. They hadn’t talked about a family, but Jewell assumed—Congressman and Mrs. Dixon and their two lovely children—a boy for you, another girl for me.
Dwight took a handkerchief from the hip pocket of his khakis, wiped the brownie goo off his hands, and dove into the crowd, Jewell at his side.
“Ms. Prescott—” Sydney appeared next to Jewell. “Regina Foster sent me to get you. She’s running this event.”
“I didn’t know she appeared before dark.” Dwight patted Jewell’s arm. “You go on. I’ll be right back.” He headed for the table manned by the Eyewitness News reporter.
“She just went to the ladies’ room, but she’ll be—oh there she is. Wait here. I’ll get her.” Sydney melted into the throng and in seconds returned with Regina in tow.
“What are you doing here?” Regina asked excitedly.
“That’s some hello. You know this is Dwight’s turf. We just got back from DC and I—”
“Come here.” Regina pulled Jewell by the hand.
“I have something to tell you!” Jewell sang.
“It can wait. This can’t.” Regina reached the hall and dragged Jewell to a quiet corner. “I called you fifty times since Thursday. Don’t you check your machine? It could be something important, not that this isn’t. But I mean something like work or something.”
“What are you babbling about?”
Regina shifted her weight from foot to foot, kept watching the door. “This isn’t the way I wanted to tell you—I don’t even know how to say this, but I didn’t know what to say on the phone either.” She took a deep breath, like she was about to go off the high board. “Your father’s here.” Regina watched, waited. “He’s one of our Baking Brothers.”
“What are you talking about?” Jewell hadn’t been in the same room with her father since she was six years old and suddenly the eleven-story building was reduced to the size of her bedroom in their house in Culver City. “He can’t be here.” I don’t need this today.
Regina nodded. “He’s doing a radio remote with Felicia now. And Jewell, he seems like a great guy, I mean I’ve talked to him on the phone, I met him yesterday. I know you haven’t gotten along—”
“I don’t know the man! How could you let me walk in here without telling me?”
“I wasn’t expecting you. Someone on Dwight’s staff said he might stop by, but why would I think I’d see you? Anyway, I wanted to talk to you after I met Ted—because I like him.”
“You like him? Isn’t that great?!” Jewell didn’t want to deal with this. It had become pretty easy for her to pretend Ted didn’t exist. Years ago, he would catch her in a sneak attack as she channel surfed. Or she’d hear a promo announcing him as a guest on The Tonight Show and she’d avoid the program that night. But he’d been replaced by younger, raunchier comedians and rarely surfaced on TV now, so how could he show up, in the middle of her Saturday, the day after she got engaged? She didn’t want a scene or a confrontation. She simply did not want to see him.
“There you are,” Sydney called from the doorway. “They’re ready to announce the winners of the silent auction.” She joined Jewell and Regina. “The councilman has consented to do the honors.” Sydney turned to Jewell. “He asked me to find you. He’d like you to join him.”
“It’ll be okay.” Regina looked at her, hoping to see a sign she might be willing to at least speak to Ted, but all she saw was a frosty stare worthy of Adrienne Berrard—or Vivian Prescott.
Sydney waited for them to follow her and Jewell realized she had no choice. They reached the front of the room just as Dwight took the mike.
“I’m sure you’re anxious to find out which of you has won a night with a Bakin’ Brother. Talk about being able to stand the heat!” Dwight chuckled at his joke. “But before I get to the business at hand—I’d like to introduce you all to somebody. You’ve probably seen her around here today and I know you all have been talking—some of you behind my back and some right up in my face—” Dwight waited for the laughter to die down. “But today, I’d like to officially introduce you to my fiancée. Come on up here Jewell—Miss Jewell Prescott!” He started to clap.
“Fiancée?!” Regina screeched.
Jewell nodded slowly to Regina as Dwight pulled her on the stage and kissed her full on the lips. The sugar-high crowd roared. Jewell held tight to Dwight’s hand and smiled even though she couldn’t feel her face. She forced herself to let go and wave to the person who shouted “Yo Adrienne!” But as Dwight announced the winners and joked about their evenings of home-baked fun, Jewell was in a vacuum. Then Dwight was steering her off stage, oblivious to her discomfort.
“There’s a photographer here from the Amsterdam News. I told him he could take a few shots.” And he led the way to the backstage area.
“Councilman, could we get a couple with you and the winners first? Out front. You know with them holding their cake or something,” the equipment-laden photographer asked.
“Sure.” He pecked Jewell’s cheek. “Duty calls.”
“Seems like a decent guy. I wish you every happiness, but that’s all I ever wanted for you, Jewlee.”
Jewlee. Only one person ever called her that. She turned and looked into a face that was as familiar as her own. Ted was as long, lean and bittersweet as she remembered. His slim slacks were the same gray as the Italian silk sweater he wore over a white T-shirt. He looks like me. She knew it was the other way around, but that was an acknowledgment she couldn’t give. “It would make me happy if you just leave me alone.”
“Come on Jewlee, it’s been a long time.” Ted’s hands hung at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“Stop calling me that!” She growled at him, low and angry. “You have no right!”
“That’s what I always call you,” Ted said softly. “I’ve never stopped talking to you. Or thinking about you.”
“I’ve had enough.” Jewell stepped over cables, tried to find an opening in the curtain. “Where’s the damn way out of here?!”
He took a step toward her. “I tried, Jewell. I did. I tried to see you. I tried to call. And I guess Viv called herself doing what was best for you, but—”
“You have no right—”
“Maybe I don’t. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. Things weren’t like they are now. Mothers always won.” He sounded sad. “But you can’t carry this kind of bitterness. Not into your marriage. Not into your future. It’s too heavy. It’ll drag you down.” Ted took a step forward, stopped when Jewell stepped back. “Okay. You don’t want anything to do with me. I wasn’t there when I should have been. I can’t change that or what that did to you, but don’t let this live in your heart, Jewlee.”
Stop calling me that. The voice screamed in her head.
“You might find love. But it can’t grow if the place you plant it is hard. You have to turn up the ground, get it ready to grow something.”
“Listen Farmer Hampton, I don’t want your fatherly advice on planting season. I don’t want explanations or excuses. I don’t want anything from you!”
Ted slipped a hand in his hip pocket, flipped open his billfold and held it out to her.
“I don’t need your money!” She spat.
Ted continued to hold the wallet in front of her. “Look.”
Jewell let her eyes drop and under a cloudy plastic window was a picture of Ted holding the hand of a little girl as they played in the surf.
“I don’t know how many wallets I’ve been through, but the picture’s always there.” Gingerly he slipped it from its place and handed it to her.
The snapshot had been folded to fit the small window and the creases were brittle. Jewell held the photo like it might crumble into a thousand pieces which is how she felt looking at it. I remember that day. I wanted another hot dog and you said I would spoil my dinner and Mommy would be mad. Before any more memories surfaced, she shoved it back at him.
“I’d like for you to have it.” His voice was soft. This wasn’t an excuse. It was a gift.
And she couldn’t accept. In five short minutes, he’d shaken her foundation, made her question things she thought she knew, for real and for true. She shook her head, watched him put the picture back in its place, then brushed past him and went in search of her future.