A Love of My Own by E. Lynn Harris Page B

large mahogany-paneled room with three chandeliers that looked like dripping diamonds. It was the size of a small ballroom, grand and gilded, with built-in bookshelves and gold-trimmed books. A shiny baby grand piano occupied a space next to a life-size marble statue. When I walked into the room, Davis saw me and signaled for me to join him. He was holding a monogrammed brandy snifter with an amber-colored liquid and smoking a cigar. He was also dressed in an elegant navy blue tux with a white shirt sans tie. As I moved toward him, I suddenly wished I had at least changed suits. I felt like the Eddie Murphy character in the movie
Trading Places.
    â€œRaymond, over here. I have someone I want you to meet.”
    â€œDavis, how are you doing? This apartment is amazing,” I said as I looked around the spacious room with its high ceiling. It was so large that calling Davis’s place an apartment didn’t sound appropriate.
    â€œI don’t think you’d call this an apartment,” a large lady said as she chuckled with the musical laughter of a bubbly socialite. I guess she was a mind reader.
    â€œIt does have more than twenty-five rooms,” Davis said as he smiled at me and the lady.
    â€œI’m Danielle DuBois,” the woman said as she extended her plump hand, flaunting a large diamond on her ring finger.
    â€œNice meeting you, Miss DuBois,” I said as I took her hand and shook it gently.
    â€œThe DuBois of Philadelphia and Newport,” she added. I didn’t know what she meant by that exactly, but I just nodded and smiled like I knew.
    â€œWhat are you drinking, Raymond?” Davis asked.
    â€œWhite wine,” I said.
    â€œTell me you’re kidding? I’ve got some fifty-year-old scotch that you must try,” Davis said.
    â€œMaybe later. Just some wine right now,” I repeated.
    â€œWhat about some champagne? I know my butler keeps the Cristal chilled,” Davis enticed.
    Since it seemed like getting a glass of wine was going to require an act of Congress, I quickly agreed. Davis disappeared, and I started to walk slowly around the room, admiring the books and artwork. I glanced out a large window, which looked out onto a busy Fifth Avenue, when I heard a female voice say, “You must be Raymond.”
    I turned around quickly. I was facing a tall, beautiful lady with an egg-shaped face and long auburn hair. She was wearing an elegant egg-yolk-colored evening gown and an emerald necklace surrounded with diamonds the size of Spanish peanuts.
    â€œI’m Veronica Meadors McClinton,” she said as she gave me a quick peck on my cheek and handed me a drink. “My husband asked me to give this to you.”
    â€œThanks,” I said, accepting the glass. “Nice to meet you.”
    â€œCome, let me show you around. I also want to introduce you to our daughter and some of our guests. I invited only eight people, and I just hope none of the gossip columnists find out about this little dinner. I’ll have hell to pay if some of my
B-List
friends find out I had a dinner party and didn’t invite them. I find it best to ask people to only one or two events a year or else they get a little too comfortable,” Veronica said as she offered me the soft hint of a smile. There was an impatient edge to her voice, but I could tell she was trying hard to be nice.
    I followed Veronica back down the long hallway as she pointed out different rooms, including a music room and a twenty-five-seat screening room. Veronica led me to what seemed like another part of the house, where she gently opened the door. I could see that it was a child’s room, and I noticed a white lady wearing a modest uniform, with a book, sitting on the edge of the full-size canopy bed.
    â€œIs she sleeping?” Veronica asked, and the lady nodded. Veronica then turned to me and put her slim finger to her lips and whispered, “Maybe you can meet her next