Tempting Faith (Indigo Love Spectrum) Read online

  “Fen, to my friends.” He wiped his hands on a chartreuse towel. “Good to meet you.” He extended his hand, at the same time bouncing his eyebrows and bobbing his head toward Alex while mouthing Boyfriend?

  “Stop it,” Faith warned sweetly.

  Alex stared up at child-sized mannequins dangling by their ankles from the ivy-covered rafters.

  “Is Dill on tonight?” asked Faith.

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” said Fen. “You want a table?”

  She nodded.

  A full-figured woman in a strapless flesh-colored catsuit guided them through a narrow corridor and into a dining room that was only slightly bigger than the counter area. The walls, floor and ceiling were painted in garish Crayola shades of red, blue, yellow, green, orange and purple.

  Four pens, two pencils and six crayons were stuck in the hostess’s unruly nest of upswept hair. She seated them at a silver Formica table that had two red and two peach vinyl chairs. None of the other tables and chairs in the room matched, either.

  “Dill decorated the place,” Faith said as Alex pulled her chair. “He says he’s a student of the Helen Keller School of Interior Design.”

  Alex took his weathered leather jacket and her light poplin coat and hung them over the back of an empty chair. “How did you find this place?”

  “I was driving around one weekend, right after I’d had a big fight with my dad over some stupid thing at school. I got lost. I came in here to ask for directions. I got found, in a way.” She waved at a tall thin man dressed in black. He was carrying a big round tray of food to a table of four. “This place is as out of place in Raleigh County as we are.”

  “Faith!” the man squealed. He set the tray on his patrons’ table and skipped over to Faith and Alex. The abandoned diners served themselves, apparently accustomed to such indifferent service.

  “Where have you been keeping yourself, sugar lump?” crooned the man in black. “Oh, I just love what you’ve done to your hair.” He energetically ran his fingers through Faith’s curls and leaned over to take a deep whiff of them. “Did you rinse in tea rose or spring rain? I can’t tell. I’ve been here since dawn and I can’t smell a doggone thing except gorgonzola.” He paused to give Alex a wolfish grin.

  “Honey lamb, you look better and better every time I see you,” he waxed merrily, cupping Faith’s chin in his slim hand. “You’ve lost a pound or two, yes? No? Angel, I’d die to have your bone structure.”

  He sucked in his cheeks. With a grand flourish of his hands and a toss of his head, he did a Gloria Swanson-Sunset Boulevard impersonation that made Alex recoil. “Maybe I’ll get implants.” With one hand on his hip and one on the table, the man in black turned his back to Faith and eyed Alex. “And you are…?”

  “Dill,” Faith said, easing him around to face both her and Alex, “this is Alex.”

  “Alex?” Dill’s tone was deceptively friendly. “Just Alex?”

  Alex became increasingly uncomfortable under the judgmental glare of Dill’s grasshopper-green eyes. After a terribly long time, Dill smiled. Alex relaxed. Dill turned his scrutinizing gaze to Faith and said, “Sweetiekins, he is not your type.”

  Alex’s jaw dropped.

  “Dill, behave,” Faith said. “Alex is just a guy from town. We came here for a nice dinner. That’s all.”

  “I’ll return for your orders,” Dill said with a dismissive roll of his eyes. Squaring his narrow shoulders, he switched into the kitchen.

  “‘Just a guy from town?’” Alex asked.

  Faith cleared her throat and paid unusual attention to unfolding and refolding her napkin.

  Alex stuck his face behind a menu. Plastic ants formed a meandering line from the top of one page to the bottom of the next. “You could have said former schoolmate. Or friend. And what did Dill mean by saying that I’m not your type?” He demanded indignantly.

  “Dill doesn’t know what my type is. I’m not sure myself.”

  “Did I do something to offend him?” He closed the menu and returned it to the Statue of Liberty holder between the Washington Monument salt and pepper shakers.

  “He might be jealous.”

  “Because I’m here with you?” The thought gave him an unexpected twinge of pride.

  “Because I’m here with you.”

  “Dill is gay?”

  “You couldn’t tell? He’s very open about it. I think all the men here are, except Fennel. He hasn’t decided what he is yet. Fen was married for a few years, but he’s dating a UPS deliveryman now. I’m not sure about Pepper, either.”

  “Who’s Pepper?”

  “She’s the one in the catsuit. She owns the place with Dill and Fen. She’s always here. I don’t think she has time to date anybody, male or female. Does their sexual orientation bother you?”

  The diamonds sparkling in her eyes almost made him forget her question. “Not at all,” he answered. “I’m very secure about my sexuality.”

  Faith felt anything but secure as she gazed into his eyes. “You have sexuality?”

  “That remains to be seen,” said Dill. He had reappeared with a pad and pencil to take their orders.

  “I’ll have the quiche special,” Faith said. “Without the attitude, please.”

  “That comes with an arugula and radicchio side salad,” said Dill. “Ranch, thousand island, bleu cheese—”

  “The basil vinaigrette, please,” said Faith.

  “To drink?”

  “Water.”

  “Colonial or bottled?”

  “Bottled,” Faith said.

  “Excuse me, but what’s colonial water?” Alex asked.

  “Tap,” said Dill.

  Alex patted the wad of cash in his pocket. His weekly pay would be a lot lighter after treating Faith to dinner, and there would be serious fallout to deal with when he turned the lighter pay over to his father. Alex pushed all that to the back of his mind and placed his order, determined to enjoy a normal date with Faith. “Buckwheat pancakes with home fries, scrambled eggs, a side of turkey bacon and a large orange juice, please.”

  Dill frowned at him.

  “And a bran muffin,” Alex added.

  Dill continued staring.

  “That’s all,” Alex said uncomfortably. “Thanks.”

  Dill grabbed his head as if he were in pain. “You’re dinner, Faith. Just Alex is breakfast. Meals should never mix!”

  “How dare you discriminate against intermeal eating, Dill,” Pepper chastised as she glided by to seat a group of six.

  Dill stopped at Pepper’s table on his way to the kitchen. “Mark my words,” he said loudly, commanding the attention of every diner. “This relationship will never work.” He winked and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Alex leaned across the table. “Was that for me or for you?”

  * * *

  Alex’s bike heralded their arrival at the Wheelers’ five-bedroom house. By the time he had cut the engine in Faith’s wide, circular driveway, Emiline Wheeler was rushing outside. Simple introductions were made; Alex was polite and well-spoken. Faith knew her mother well enough to know that behind her forced smile resided a thousand versions of the same question: What the hell was she doing on the back of Alexander Brannon’s motorcycle?

  The longest dinner of her life had followed.

  “Are you crazy?” Justus Wheeler had asked, so angry that he hadn’t touched a bite of his favorite dinner, grilled beef tenderloin with asparagus and new potatoes. “Or are you just determined to embarrass me?”

  “Jefferson called for you while you were gone,” her mother had cheerily informed her in an attempt to diffuse the argument brewing between daughter and father. “He wants you to join him at the club for tennis after services on Sunday. You like Jefferson, don’t you? He’s such a nice boy.”

  “He’s the only other black kid in my class,” Faith had muttered sullenly. “Everyone is always trying to push us together.”

  “That Brannon boy has no future!” her fat
her had shouted.

  Matching his volume, Faith had fired back with, “He gave me a ride home, that’s all. He didn’t ask me to marry him!”

  “Oh, my God,” her mother gasped. “Faith, you’re far too young and you have far too much ahead of you to be thinking about marriage.” She brightened, looking from her husband to her daughter. “You know what would be a good idea?” With father and daughter glaring at each other and ignoring her, she answered her own question. “I think it would be a good idea for us to drive out to Charles Town for a visit. We could take a look at the dance school there, and if you like it, Faith, maybe we can visit the high schools and see which one you like best.”

  Faith shot up in her chair. “I’m not switching schools in the middle of a semester! Why on earth would you want me to live in Charles—” Her mother’s logic hit her then. “If you want to send me somewhere with more black people, send me someplace cool, like Harlem or New Orleans. I’m not moving to Charles Town!”

  “You’ll live where we tell you to live, little girl!” her father bellowed.

  “You want me to live in Charles Town, Daddy?” she asked, her eyes shimmering with tears.

  “Hell, no!” Mr. Wheeler yelled, and then he turned on his wife. “Emiline, have you lost your mind?” he asked, forcing his voice lower. “I am not sending my seventeen-year-old daughter three hundred miles from home to go to school in the Eastern Panhandle.”

  “Well, we have to do something,” Mrs. Wheeler whispered fiercely. “Before—”

  “Before what, Mama?” Faith asked. Her tears evaporated in the heat of her growing anger. “Exactly what do you think I plan to do with Alex Brannon?”

  Mr. Wheeler threw up his hands and slumped back in his maple Windsor chair. “She’s calling him Alex. Is that your pet name for him?”

  “It’s his name name, Daddy!” Faith wailed.

  “Faith, honey,” Mrs. Wheeler started, her voice quivering. “You’re known by the company you keep, and Alexander Brannon isn’t the sort of person you should be associating with.”

  “You’re such a snob,” Faith mumbled.

  Mr. Wheeler slammed his hands on the table, forcing plates, glasses and cutlery to jump. “Don’t you disrespect your mother! We haven’t raised you to call your mother out of her name, or to run around with the town hoodlum!”

  “He’s not a hoodlum!” Faith shouted, showing that she had inherited his quickness to anger along with his rich brown skin and expressive eyes. “You don’t know him! You’ve never even talked to him!”

  “I don’t have to talk to him to know that I don’t want his ass fooling around with my daughter!”

  “You’re so unfair, Daddy,” Faith wailed, her tears reappearing. “You, of all people, should know how hard it is to live in a place where people cast you as a stereotype.”

  Mr. Wheeler eyed her suspiciously, caught off guard by her savvy observation. “Don’t you dare try to compare my experience as a hard-working black business owner in this town with that trailer trash Alexander Brannon. Our people have lived and worked here for generations, since John Brown’s raid. That Brannon kid is one generation out of the hills, and he’s gonna end up a drunk like his daddy or crazy like his mama. You are strictly forbidden to see him again.”

  “Daddy!”

  “It’s for your own good, baby,” Mrs. Wheeler said in the placating tone Faith hated most.

  “It’s for your reputation,” Faith said derisively.

  She and her father stood at the same time, Mr. Wheeler knocking his chair over in the process. “Go to your room!” he ordered, his words overlapping Faith’s, “I’m going to my room!”

  Just as she had when she was eight and had been sent to her room for farting at the dinner table, she stomped out of the dining room, through the living room, into the foyer, up the carpeted stairs, and into her pretty pastel-hued bedroom. She paced angrily, like a panther in a cage far too small.

  How dare her parents tell her with whom she could be friends! How dare they forbid her to do anything! Faith was a good student, she was popular, she never broke curfew, and no matter what, she never embarrassed her parents. As the wealthiest family in town and one of only a few black families in Dorothy, the Wheelers were always careful to adhere to a higher standard of behavior. It wasn’t enough to be better; they strived to be the very best.

  Faith loved and respected her parents, but their order completely fled her mind the next time she saw Alex—almost a week after her blow-up with them. She had been in ballet class in the studio above McGill’s Pharmacy. Executing a textbook arabesque penchée, she caught sight of Alex standing just inside the garage at Brody’s Auto Body. He was wearing a bluish-gray striped jumpsuit with Brody’s embroidered across the chest. Automotive grime smudged his chin and the backs of his hands. He appeared to be busy patching the inside of a tire, but he wasn’t watching his work. His face was tilted upward, and his eyes were on Faith.

  His gaze was so intense, Faith broke her perfect position. It had been impossible for her to concentrate on class after that. Afterward, she hurried downstairs and out of the building, hoping to run into Alex. And she had, literally; he’d been waiting for her.

  Without a word, Alex had taken her hand and pulled her into the shadowy gap between McGill’s and the Pearl S. Buck Community Book Exchange. That brief, secret meeting was the first of many between them, and they had managed to keep their innocent contact under wraps until the Thanksgiving Day football game between Dorothy and its archrival, Marsh Spring High.

  Everything changed that day because that was the day they gave each other everything that mattered.

  * * *

  Faith stuck her foot out to stop the turning of her chair. She’d seen Zander Baron’s first movie, Burn, while on a blind date with some guy Daiyu had set her up with, and the poor fellow had suffered the misfortune of being in her company the night she rediscovered the boy she had loved and lost in high school.

  Alexander Brannon, the bad boy of Raleigh County, was alive and thriving in Hollywood as Zander Baron, movie star.

  It had taken a few days and every skill she possessed as a reporter, but she now had no real doubt that Alex and Zander were the same person. The absence of any verifiable personal information about Zander Baron only confirmed her suspicion.

  A part of her had never gotten over the loss of Alex, and that part had roared to life with a vengeance after she’d seen Burn. The movie’s poster featured cars and weaponry rather than the characters in the film, and the studio had released no advance stills to the press. Since Alex was an unknown, the movie had been given a “soft” opening, showing in only a few theaters in New York and Los Angeles prior to its nationwide release on New Year’s Day.

  He’d shaved his head for his role, but the absence of his dark, silky hair had only drawn more attention to his eyes. His eyes were the feature she’d studied most, had learned best. In that darkened theater, she realized that her fondest wish had come true: Alex was still alive.

  Maybe she had known it all along. Perhaps that was why she had never fallen in love or experienced a serious relationship. For ten years, she’d believed her heart had been lost along with Alexander Brannon.

  Now she knew better. Zander Baron had had it all along.

  Two teams of her co-workers were chasing the inflatable beach ball from cubicle to cubicle, and as the playful chaos around her intensified, Faith focused more sharply on the materials covering her desk.

  The box-office success of Zander’s first film had been phenomenal; Burn’s box-office receipts had set a record for a New Year’s Day opening. The film continued to hold the number-one spot two months later. Zander had two new movies set for release—Reunion in the next month and Miss Wright, which was slated for June. Burn’s success had convinced studios that Zander Baron was the answer to James Dean, someone whose star had begun to burn well before most of his work had even caught the public’s notice.

  Zander was poised on the verge of
superstardom, and the entertainment media hungered to turn him into their latest hot commodity. In just the past eight weeks, he had been on the covers of People, Rolling Stone, Entertainment Weekly, the National Enquirer, the Star and OK!

  Photos were pretty much all the magazines had to offer. Team Baxter had done a very good job of doling out small doses of information to widespread sources. Faith admired Olivia Baxter’s cunning. Zander had been interviewed by regional newspapers and magazines well before the release of Burn. Major media had picked up those stories and regurgitated the information, lending it credibility.

  Faith knew it was all false.

  She was sitting on a scoop that could send her career into orbit. If she told the world the truth about Zander Baron, she could write her own ticket. She had no desire to be the next great gossip maven, but a scoop was a scoop, whether it uncovered an actor or a political scandal. Writing a story that no one else had would give Faith the leverage and reputation she needed to get a job with a serious news agency, reporting stories that actually meant something.

  All she had to do was kill Zander Baron just as he had killed Alexander Brannon.

  Chapter 2

  Olivia worked from her million-dollar Bel Air mansion, having turned the room with the best view into her office. From her platinum bob and steel grey eyes to her snow white pantsuit, Olivia favored the color palette of the proverbial ice queen. Her thick carpeting, which was the pale, barely blue hue of a glacier, muffled the sound of Zander’s heavy black motorcycle boots.

  Sitting in an office chair ergonomically designed to coddle her lower back and ease her occasional sciatic pain, Olivia watched Zander, only her eyes following his slow, measured steps.

  “You know, Zander, you really haven’t changed that much since we first met,” she began in the clipped, patrician accent that exposed her boarding school background. “You still have that discomforting energy about you, that sense of a caged tiger yearning for escape.”

  He forced himself to stand still, choosing a place near the floor-to-ceiling window. Staring at the picturesque Santa Monica mountains, Zander tried, unsuccessfully, to quiet the restlessness that had plagued him since the press conference the day before.