“The flag…” Dee worked up a rueful grin. “Rodney and I have had some long debates about it. You know, it doesn’t mean hate to them like it does to us. It’s more about family and community bonding and a sense of belonging. He also said hostility, like when you gave people the finger at the rally, will never lead to racial harmony.”
“Oh, he did, did he? Sounds like he brainwashed you with a lot of bullshit while he was eating you out.”
Dee shook her head. “His sexiness definitely got my attention, but I have my own mind.”
“That’s right. You’re a strong-ass woman, and don’t you forget it.”
Now that the anger and hurt had worn off a little, Dee could be philosophical about last weekend. Rodney Walker had given her an education in racial relations. Instead of being heartbroken like some stupid teenaged girl, she could use the knowledge to be better at her job. That’s what her father would do. Let nothing go to waste, even if it comes in a negative wrapper.
“Do you know he even has a flag in his bedroom?” she joked.
Rhonda dropped her sandwich. “No shit? No wonder you all did it in the bathroom.”
Civil rights attorney and rebel Southern rocker. What had she been thinking? At least it had ended before things could go too far, and work would more than keep her mind off the long-haired heartbreaker.
* * *
Jack leaned back in his plane seat as the patchwork farms of America’s heartland scrolled by out the window. He drank straight whiskey to medicate the remains of his lousy cold.
Linda sat behind him, reading some trashy romance novel. As if what he gave her in bed wasn’t good enough. She sure hadn’t learned anything creative from those books. His jeans tightened as he looked forward to shagging a young California blonde on tour. He’d be sure to find one for Rodney, too.
His brother kicked off his worn black cowboy boots. Before he could doze off, Jack elbowed him.
“Was she good?”
“What?” Rodney frowned while stifling a yawn. “Who?”
“Aunt Jemima.”
His brother made a fist on the seat’s armrest. “Don’t call her that. Dee is a beautiful, smart, successful woman.”
Whatever. “You had your fun. From now on, I suggest you dip your wick in white pussy only.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Rodney said, his face flushing red. “You’re my little brother, not my keeper.”
Jack sipped his whiskey. “I won’t let you ruin the band.”
“I’m not planning to see her again,” his brother muttered.
“Excellent.”
But Jack didn’t plan to take his word for it. A man with a taste for other races couldn’t be trusted. He planned on watching his every move like a hawk.
Then again, maybe he should let him self-destruct. What better way to get him out of the band? Anybody could look pretty and sing, but a masterful guitar player with God-given talent wasn’t born every day.
The band should have been his, and only his, all along.
* * *
Next Saturday night, Dee stepped into the ballroom of a prominent hotel in downtown D.C. for the Good Neighbor Gala, a charity ball to benefit the homeless. Willis and Greene sent its employees every year for PR, and it usually resulted in picking up some new clients.
The pleats of her black floor-length gown swished as she strolled under dazzling chandeliers. The dress had looked great in the store, but now she wished the side slit didn’t go so high, exposing black silk stockings and velvet pumps.
Time to get over her modesty. Her shower fling with Rodney had made it more than clear she needed to get a man and settle down. Preferably one without a bigoted brother and a racial image to uphold.
Work it, girl.
She snagged a flute of champagne from the tray offered to her and headed to the safety of her gathered co-workers. After scarfing down more hors d’oeuvres than she should and draining her glass, she felt her shoulders loosen. Her appetite had returned, and Rodney Walker was a distant memory.
Time to party.
“You look much too fine in that dress to be a wallflower all night.” Barry made shooing motions. “Go mingle.”
“Yes, boss.” She shot a glance at his wife standing next to him. “You know, if you weren’t happily married, I might take offense at that remark.”
“Sustained,” he said, mimicking the courtroom.
On her way to the ladies’ room to refresh her lip gloss, someone snagged her arm. Holy crap, it was Ted Parmley, one of Virginia’s senators.
He had short, dark hair and blue eyes that crinkled on the sides when he smiled. And—no surprise—a designer suit.
“You’re Dee Dobson, right? The one who got stabbed at the Culpeper rally?”
“That’s me.” She beamed him a high-wattage smile. “And I already know who you are. Very nice to meet you, Mr. Parmley.”
He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and handed it to her. “I really admired your work on the Thompson case.”
“Th-thank you,” she said, sipping her drink to keep from stammering something stupid.
Power radiated off him, enhancing the glow from the champagne. But he wasn’t Rodney. Would she compare every man with him from now on?
He sipped his own. “You’re not a partner yet?”
“Working on it,” she admitted.
“Have you considered running for office?”
She choked on the fizzy bubbles. “Excuse me?”
“You’d make a great district attorney, of course, but I’m thinking bigger. Like attorney general for D.C.”
“Me?” She clapped a hand against her chest. “But I’m not even a partner.”
“Many different legal careers can lead to election,” he explained. “Likeability helps a lot, too. Do you have other legal experience?”
“Well, I was a public defender in West Virginia for a while.”
His smile widened. “Excellent. I really think you have a shot at it.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll think about it, but don’t wait too
